Spark of Brooklyn
by VividInfinity
Summary: I've always lived in Brooklyn, third in command of her newsies, first in command of her girl newsies. But now, Spotty dear's complicating things.
1. Pray We Don't Get Killed

I looked up.

Spot was arguing with his second-in-command, Wolf.

"I'se ain't _carin'_ who stahted dah fight, Wolf. I'se is _carin'_ dat I'se got a newsies outta action an' 'e's s'pposed to-." He trailed off, or rather, he kept talking and I stopped paying attention.

I smiled. Wolf was a guy who was never afraid to contradict Spot. He wasn't afraid of Spot either, one of the many, many, many reasons he'd been selected for the post of beta to Spot's alpha.

I was making my bed in the room I shared with my fellow girl newsies. Spot had come in to tell me that we had visitors.

My girls were already downstairs when Spot left and Wolf stopped him to tell him that Kid Blink had fought with a Brooklyn newsie called Poker.

I pushed past an arguing Spot and his beta and to the stairs, where I sat on the rail and slid down.

My girls were sitting, waiting for me like any other normal day.

Kitty, the youngest, was a small thing with longish brown hair and big, I mean _big_, green eyes.

Sling, was a lithe girl, and my best long range slingshooter. Slingshotter? Slingershooter? Slingshot shooter? Anyhow, Sling had a custom made slingshot to rival only Spot's, and his was good enough to unbutton a newsie's shirt at forty paces.

Dicey was Poker's sister, and she got her name for the loaded dice she tossed in her small hand to beat newsies out of their food money.

Jewels, a year before coming to Brooklyn, stole a handful of fake diamonds and pearls. She didn't get caught for it, but she sure threw around a lot of things when she found out that the woman she had accidentally-on-purpose bumped into had a necklace of fake jewels. She's my best thief.

And then there was Witchy, our resident conspiracy theorist, superstitious prophet, wise woman/girl, and alchemist. She even looked like a witch, except she was pretty enough, with jet black hair and dark eyes.

They made up my girl newsies. There were a few others, but when Spot put me in charge of the Brooklyn girl newsies, these were my friends, and I made Sling my beta.

But today, there was something very _not_ normal.

Jewels and Dicey held Kid Blink, who was looking thoroughly pissed at being held prisoner by a bunch of girls.

I smirked and came forward. My girls looked at me and waited.

"Hello girls." I called. "Lovely morning isn't it?"

Kitty giggled.

I came forward to stand before Kid Blink. I leaned on one hip and had my hands in my pockets. I smirked a smirk I had modeled after that of our 'beloved' leader.

"Hello, Blinky." I said. "My, my, my, someone's in trouble, Kiddo."

Kid looked like he'd just had a fight with Poker. Which is how most of our boys look when they've been thoroughly beat up. The only people Poker actually gets along with besides his sister are Spot, because he wants to live a while longer, and Racetrack, because I secretly think they're related, or that the racetrack/poker betting atmosphere impacts the brain.

He swore at me. My girls only smiled.

"Oh, that ain't a nice was to talk to your hostess, Kiddo. Didn't you ever learn manners?"

I pulled out my slingshot as I talked. I put my favorite type of marble, the light, large kind that I reserve for mere threats, into it.

I pulled back and aimed at Blink's nose.

He crossed his eye to look at it.

"Blinky, dear, wontcha tell me why you came all this way to pay me a visit?" I asked sweetly, mockingly fluttering my lashes.

"We'se got business wit' Spot, not his goily chief."

I sniffed and told Sling, "He's so mean."

Sling crossed her arms. "I noticed. You should be very offended and shoot 'im."

Blink paled.

I heard laughs coming from the doorway. I picked them out. Cowboy, Racetrack, Spot smirking and chuckling and the Walkin' Mouth saying,

"Shouldn't we help him?"

I let my slingshot fly and Witchy caught it as it whizzed past Blink's ear.

"You coulda killed me!" Blink cried indignantly.

"Oh, Blinky," I smirked a Spot-worthy smirk. "You underestimate my ability to captain a slingshot."

Kitty collapsed into laughter, rolling around on the floor.

Basically, the next few minutes passed in getting settled down, Spot shoving Blink at Cowboy, and going to sit on his throne of crates, and my girls taking their places at Spot's rear and sides. Kitty and Sling got to stand next to me.

"So why're ya heah, Jackie boy?" Spot asked. "Manhattan too borin' fo' ye?"

Cowboy smiled. "Can't a fella visit an ole pal?"

"Ya can," Spot admitted. "But if you'se is bringin' dah Walkin' Mouth, dat ain't dah case."

Racetrack guffawed and Cowboy grinned. My girls laughed at the Mouth's indignant face.

"So why're ya heah?" Spot repeated his question.

Jack pushed Davey forward. Davey looked at Cowboy with determined resentment. Then he looked at Spot, who smirked his probably copyrighted smirk.

"What've yah got foah me, Mouth?"

Davey glared at Spot. "We have news. Somebody died. Was killed, more like."

Everyone in the room tensed.

"Who?" Wolf ventured, ignoring the glare Spot shot at him that made Sling wince.

"Leadah o' Harlem," Race said carelessly. "Nevah liked 'im. Always yellin' at me to stop smokin' in 'is face." Blink elbowed him in the ribs.

Davey glared at the two of them. He looked back at us Brooklynites.

"And the leaders of Queens and Staten Island got stabbed." He looked at us. "The murderer is targeting the newsies' leaders in every district and their chiefs. The Bowery's second-in-command disappeared and East Side's girl newsies' chief's second-in-command dodged an off-target throwing knife."

"Jewels, Witchy, go sell. Dicey, take Kitty. Sling, stay here." I ordered. They recognized that look in my eyes and did as they were told, even Kitty.

"What do we do?" Wolf asked, still ignoring Spot's glares.

"We wait," Race said. "And we pray we don't get killed."

Okay, whataya think?

PLZ REVIEW!


	2. Brooklyn's Sick

Basically, we sold well that day, despite the bad news.

I sold with Sling for safety, while Spot sold with Snake, his best knife-thrower.

I met with the rest of my girls at the café after work.

"So what're ya gonna do?" Dicey asked.

"Wait." I said, shrugging. "Sell papes. Avoid flying knives. Keep an eye on Spot."

"Aw, dat's sweet, sugah, but I don' need a sittah." A voice drawled behind me.

I banged my head slowly, hard, on the table, rattling the table as my girls laughed.

"Spot, don't you got better things to do than bug me?" I moaned, my voice muffled by the table.

"Naw," Spot said behind me. "Wolf ain't around to bug _me_ so'se I'se got nothin' ta do."

"Well, go yell at Poker. He's beatin' Snake out of his lunch money an' then they'll both get kicked out." I ordered. Spot looked over and saw I was telling the truth.

"I'll be back, Gypsy." He muttered rebelliously before doing as he was told.

"Not healthy, Gypsy." Sling reprimanded.

"If I cared about health, I'd pay attention." I yawned. "Seeing as I don't, I'm gonna ask you goils, have you noticed anything weird about Spot lately?" I made sure he was yelling at Poker before I went on. "Like he's distracted or tired?"

Dicey nodded reluctantly and Jewels followed suit. Kitty shrugged. Sling copied Jewels and Dicey, but Witchy stayed motionless.

"Witchy?" I prompted. "You got somethin' to share with the class?"

She shrugged. "I got plenty tah say. Wheddah I say it o' not is somethin' else."

"Spill," Sling ordered sternly. Dicey muffled a giggle.

"Easy, goils. You'se is blind. Spot's sick." She put her feet on the table. "Fevah, distracted, tired."

This of course started a wave of murmurs at our table.

"Spot?" Jewels gaped at Witchy. "Sick? Like, really actually sick?"

"_The_ Spot Conlon?" Dicey muttered. "Sick?"

Kitty paled and whimpered. She clutched my arm as a shadow fell over our table.

"Mistah Spot, we'se didn't mean aythin'." She muttered.

Spot was furious, you could see that if you were blind. His stormy eyes were on fire, boring holes into my brain, and his face was fixed in a scowl.

I took Kitty into my lap.

"Stop it Spot, you're scaring her." I scolded, seemingly oblivious to his temper.

"Gypsy, outside, _now_." He hissed through clenched teeth.

Well, when Spotty calls, you better listen. Unless you want to end up at the bottom of the East River.

I handed Kitty over to Dicey, who took her gladly and mouthed, _Good luck_.

I followed Spot out to the opening of an alley, oblivious to passersby.

"Yeah?" I asked, when Spot just glared at me for a few seconds.

"Gypsy," He warned, like a dog gives a warning growl.

"What, Spot?"

He just glared at me. He didn't seem to have the energy to deal with me. His face was flushed and he had circles under his eyes.

"If ya tell anyone, I'll rip your guts out and feed 'em to Kitty." Spot growled.

"Holy Brooklyn, you _are _sick." I gaped at him. "Spot, you've gotta tell someone, or, or get some rest."

"I _can't_ rest, Gypsy. I'se gots Brooklyn to run." Spot insisted.

"Then turn it over to Wolf for a couple of days. Sling and I and some of your newsies have extra cash, you can take a couple o' days off an' have someone take care o'-"

"I ain't nevah havin' _anyone_ takin' care o' me, Gypsy. Nevah, d'ya heah?"

I nodded mutely. After all, he'd grabbed me by the throat by now, I couldn't exactly speak.

He let me go and I rubbed my neck.

"And I don't suppose you've thought on what might happen if you get sick real bad?" I asked him, leaving. "What happens to Brooklyn if you die?"

I let him think on that. I went back into the café. I swore my girls to secrecy and picked up Kitty. The five year old clung to me and I took her back to the lodging house.

PLZ REVIEW!


	3. Spilling Secrets During Bedtime Stories

Kitty sold well with Dicey most days when I couldn't take her. Today she'd made enough for her food at the café, so when we got back, I sat down for a game of Go Fish with her. Dicey came over to play with us, and after a while, the other girls joined in.

We spent the evening playing Go Fish, then poker, then dice, then Old Maid, War, and Slapjack.

Poker came in and joined, not in playing poker because we wouldn't let him, but in beating us at War and Slapjack.

When Kitty fell asleep on my lap and closed her cat-like eyes, I carried her to our room and tucked her in.

As I was leaving, I saw Spot.

"You oughtta rest, Spot." I told him, ignoring his glare.

"I _ain't_ resting, Gypsy. Get it outta yer head." Spot scolded.

"And tell me again, what happens if you get _really_ sick? What happens to Brooklyn when her leader's not there?" I pushed past him and went down the hall. I stopped when I heard voices coming from the room I had just left.

A yawn. "Mistah Spot? Will ya tell me a story?"

A moment of silence. "Okay, kid."

I could hear him sit down on the bed with and pull Kitty onto his lap. I smiled.

He coughed and my smile vanished.

"Well, once there was a city, see. What was dis city made o'?"

"Candy!"

Spot sounded surprised. "Okay. And there was dis kid."

"What did she look like?"

"She had real pretty hair, and big kitty eyes, like. And she had lots o' friends. Dere was Jewels, and Dicey, and Witchy, and Sling. And then one day-"

"You forgot Gypsy!" Kitty cried.

"Fine, kid. Gypsy, too." Spot sounded resigned. He yawned. "And one day Cowboy came from Manhattan with Mush, and Kid Blink, and-"

"And Racetrack, Racetrack!" Kitty insisted.

"Him, too, kid. And they brought Kitty a big bag of the best candy in the whole city. The End."

"Dat was a good story, Mistah Spot."

"Well, kid, I do my best. Now go ta bed." He pulled the covers over her. "You'se gotta work tomorrow."

"Mistah Spot?"

"Yeah?"

"Gypsy's worried for yah. She likes ya. And she don't want ya ta get sick."

Silence. I tensed, ready to run down the stairs.

Kitty kept talking. "Gypsy likes you, Mistah Spot. Do ya like her, Mistah Spot?"

I left, not wanting to know the answer. Kitty was right. I _do_ like Spot. Liked him since he made me leader of the Brooklyn girl newsies. I answer only to Spot or Wolf. But I'm not sure if I _like_ him, like him.

PLZ REVIEW! I know it was short, but I wanted some interaction between Spot and Kitty.


	4. Interrogated By A Cat

The next day was similar. We sold papes, and Jewels broke up a fight over a bet and bashed their heads together.

Dicey got caught stealing a few extra papes, but she escaped. She'll get Jewels to buy her papes for her for a few days if she's smart.

Kitty kept quiet to my other girls about Spot's bed time story, but Spot wouldn't look at me or Kitty.

Witchy, our resident I-see-everything girl, drew me aside after work, while the others were in the café.

"Spill." She ordered.

I played dumb. "Spill what?" I asked, as if I didn't know.

"You know what, Gypsy." Witchy glared at me.

I always thought that if Spot and Witchy hooked up, their kids would have looks that could kill.

"Fine. Kitty told Spot I like him." I glared at her. "Happy?"

Witchy ignored the glare. She looked thoughtful. "And do ya?"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do ya like him?" she said, like she was talking to someone with an awful lot of empty space up top.

I shrugged.

"Ya do, ya do!" Witchy cried triumphantly. "Ya like 'im, ya like 'im!"

"Shut yer gob or I'll toss it in the East River!" I hissed. "What if he heard you?"

"Who cares?" She sang. "Ya like 'im, ya like 'im, ya like-"

That's all she got out, 'cause I clapped my hand over her mouth and dragged her up against the alley wall we were talking in.

"Witchy, if he finds out from you, there won't be a place in all of Brooklyn for ya. Got it?" Witchy nodded, her eyes not showing fear, or dismay, or disbelief or anything. I let her go.

"And don't you _dare_ tell the other girls." I hissed.

I left and went back into the café.

When I opened the door, the café was in shambles.

Poker was fighting against a newsie called Alleycat in the center of the café, where there weren't any tables.

Witchy scrammed to help my girls make their apologies to the café staff.

Spot was conveniently MIA so I took charge.

"**HEY!**" I yelled. "**SHUT YER GOBS OR THEY'LL BE SEWN SHUT BY THE END O' TODAY!**"

Everyone stopped cheering and betting. I just love that reaction.

They all looked at me. Alleycat and Poker stopped fighting. Poker was sitting on Alleycat, who looked thoroughly pounded.

I strode over. I pulled Poker off of Alleycat and shook him. Dicey ran out of the crowd of newsies and helped Alleycat up. I grabbed the back of both of the boys' shirts.

"Here's how it's gonna go, boys." I said. I banged their heads together and said, "First off, you're gonna tell me why you had to fight _now_ instead of waiting for a better place to kill each other."

"Pokah picked it," Alleycat tattled. "'E said I owed 'im five bucks for losin' a bet. Errebody knows ya don't bet wit' Poker 'less you wanna lose. I nevah made no bet wit' 'im!"

"It ain't true!" Poker insisted. But it was obvious who was telling the truth and who wasn't , I'll give you two guesses, and one of them don't count.

"Here's what's gonna happen, boys." I told them. "Since it was Poker's fault, _he_ gets to explain to the owner of the restaurant why they fought, and _he_ gets to get punished for it. And Alleycat has to pay for Poker's food and his own. Got it?"

They both protested. I pushed them away. Poker caught himself, but Alleycat stumbled into Dicey, who caught him.

"Come one," I heard Dicey say. "Let's pay an' get outta heah."

"If any o' you bums were bettin' on this fight, get your money back." I yelled to our onlookers. "Nobody won."

I left. Kitty caught up with me and I picked her up. I kept walking.

"Gypsy?" She asked me, her kitty eyes wide.

"Yeah, Kitty?"

"Do ya like Mistah Spot?"

Well, I wasn't expecting that. I thought about that. What could I say to a five year old about Spot Conlon?

"Spot's. . .okay." I said after a while.

"Whadaya mean?" Kitty asked, seemingly unfazed by my indirect answer.

"He's nice enough, and he takes care o' Brooklyn well." I thought more. What else? "Spot's different from most guys. He's a good leader and he's cute enough. He likes to think he's in charge. He likes to think nobody can beat 'im."

"Can you beat 'im, Gypsy?" Kitty asked.

I laughed. "I hope I can, kid."

Plz review!


	5. Fraid Dis Chaptah's Lackin' in Action

Spot was on the stairs, dozing off, his feet on the step he dozed on. I sighed.

"Hey, Conlon." I said gently. "Spot, wake up. Yer loyal subjects will be here soon, an' they'll wanna know why their leader is sleeping on the stairs."

Spot jerked awake.

He yawned.

"Did I ever give you permission to call me Conlon?"

"Nope." I said. "But I never gave you permission to sleep on the stairs."

I stepped over him and took Kitty upstairs.

"Gypsy?" Kitty asked. "Why was Mistah Spot sleepin' on da stairs?"

I chuckled. "I dunno, kid. I'll ask 'im."

I left her to play with the one doll she had, one that Dicey and I had made her, and closed the door behind me. Then I walked down the hall.

Spot was waiting for me.

I put my hands on my hips.

"So why _were_ you sleepin' on the stairs, Conlon?" I demanded.

"Why _were_ you breakin' up a fight in da café?" He retorted.

"'Cause _you_ went AWOL on me." I glared at him. "It ain't _my_ fault Poker cheated Alleycat."

There was silence. Spot glared at me with his blue-gray stormy eyes, fury sparking behind them. I glared back with my own brown eyes.

Then his eyes softened. "And Kitty?"

"Playing in the girls' room." I said.

"She told me somethin' the other day," Spot began awkwardly. "Um, you just left the room an'-"

"And you told her a story about a candy city and you forgot to include me an' Race?" I supplied.

His eyes widened in indignation. "You was listening."

"Keep yer cap on, I didn't hear much." I crossed my arms. "I left after Kitty started tellin' ya 'bout how I like you." I reddened. That didn't come out right.

Spot reddened, too. He opened his mouth to say something.

"No," I said. " Don't worry, I didn't hear what you said to her."

Spot looked relieved. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Um. . .so, do you?"

I played dumb. Looks like this is gonna play out like my conversation with Witchy.

"Do I what?" I said, like I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Um. . .like me?" Spot was red.

I smirked a Spot-worthy smirk. "Well, if I did," I said, pushing my face into Spot's. "I wouldn't tell ya, Conlon."

I left Spot looking steamed and I walked down to my girls.

I talked about the latest headlines, some mayor cheated on his wife. We played poker and we each lost a fortune. But we didn't let Poker play, so we each won it back.

The evening passed quietly. Spot sat in the corner, watching me, his fingers twirling his cane loosely. My eyes occasionally flicked at Spot.

He leaned against the wall, his blue shirt dark with sweat. It was hot in here, but still. Spot _looked_ like he was getting better, but still. He occasionally dozed off, and when he opened his eyes, he looked at me, as if to make sure I was still there.

Our fun evening ended when Kitty came downstairs. She'd fallen asleep, I could tell by her mussed hair and sleepy look.

"I can't sleep." She mumbled, rubbing one eye.

As the other newsies smiled or 'awwww'ed, I picked Kitty up and took her up to our room. Cue bedtime for newsies who'll regret staying up so late in the morning.

"Had a bad dream?" I asked, tucking Kitty into her bunk.

She nodded. "It was about my mommy."

I bit my lip. Kitty didn't get that sometimes you kept your back stories secret. She'd told us hers upon her arrival.

Her father had left them, Kitty and her mother, but her mother had died of a sickness that they didn't have the money to try and cure. Kitty's brother had left her settled in the newsies' ranks before he left to try and find work out west.

Kitty's brother had said that her name was Melissa, and somehow that didn't seem right to me. She didn't look like a Melissa. She looked like a cat. But she was more of a kitten. See where this is going?

"And your brother?" I guessed.

She nodded.

"You know when the last time I got tucked in by my mother was?" I asked Kitty. She looked at me and I said, "It was years and years ago. So we both ain't got mommies, kid." I said, not unkindly.

Kitty nodded. She snuggled into the bed.

"Will you be my mommy, Gypsy?" She asked.

I cracked a smile. "Sure, kid." I changed and climbed into the bed above her as newsie girls poured in around us. Kitty left the land of the living within seconds, to take a trip to the land where people who sleep like the dead dwell.

I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.

I dreamed weird.

My newsie girls were around me, shouting as the Delanceys beat up Cowboy. The scene shifted and Cowboy was Spot. The Delanceys were two boys I didn't know.

I tried to get through the crowd, but the scene shifted. I was back on the docks, newsies talking and swimming around me.

I looked behind me. Spot had a knife in his chest and he fell in the water.

The scene shifted and I screamed.

That's when I woke up. And I didn't remember the dream.

You know the drill, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Plz?


	6. About Time

I swung my legs over the bunk and jumped out of bed. Newsies were waking up around me.

A friend of Kitty's, Scamp, ran to wake her up. Kitty yelped and wacked Scamp with a pillow as she got up.

The morning was as interesting as ever. Spot was conveniently absent, leaving Sling, Wolf, and I to take charge of morning mayhem.

I held Scamp and Kitty away from Poker, who was taunting them. Alleycat dressed, then flopped back into bed. Dicey lit a cigar and Jewels snatched it away, muttering about guttersnipe thieves. Then Dicey pulled Alleycat out of bed and fixed him up, as well as you can fix up a guy who's been utterly pounded. Wolf pulled Poker out of bed and smacked him awake, dodging Poker's counterattack. Sling was in the thick of it, dodging mayhem and waking people up with buckets of water.

I smiled. Home sweet home.

When we all shuffled downstairs to go to work, I sent Kitty off with Dicey and Sling, and went to where I guessed Spot would be.

The docks.

He goes there to think sometimes. Or to just get away from Brooklyn's mayhem. Or to just stare into space, like he was doing now.

He sat on his mountain of crates, like he always does. His hat was pulled low, and Spot twirled his cane in his fingers.

"Hey, lovah boy." I smirked, coming up to sit on a crate just below Spot's own position at the top of the pile. Unofficial Rule Number One of Brooklyn: Stay off Spot Conlon's throne.

"Go away, Gypsy." Spot muttered.

I didn't obey. I was picked for my post because I didn't pay attention to Spot's many eccentricities. In other words, I don't care if he snaps at me.

"No thanks, Spot, I'm good here." I said, leaning back against the crates.

Spot groaned. "Do you nevah listen ta anyone?"

"That is correct, lovah boy. I'se is my own boss." I said luxuriously.

Spot put his face in his hands. The thick, cloudy sky rolled above us.

Silence. Neither of us had anything to say.

The day was strange. A perfect breeze swam through the air, keeping it perfectly cool. It would rain soon, but for now the air was wondrously cool, unlike normal when it was blistering hot.

"Gypsy?" Spot asked.

"Yeah, Spot?"

"Can I ask ya somfin?" Spot said, taking his face out of his hands and looking out at the river.

"Sure." I said.

"What's your name?" Spot asked, looking at me. I winced and he smirked.

"Do you _really_ want to go there?"

"Gypsy, tell." Spot said firmly.

"Penelope," I said, wincing. "Penelope Dawn."

Spot wolf whistled.

I slapped his shoulder.

"I'd ask to know yours, but you prob'ly wouldn't tell." I said.

"Ya got that right." Spot said.

There was silence for a bit more.

"Spot?" I asked, before I lost the nerve.

"Yeah?" Spot answered.

"Is somethin' da mattah?" I said hurriedly. "You ain't yourself lately. You ain't yelled at any o' your newsies, you weren't there when Poker and Alleycat fought,"

Spot jumped down from his throne. That could be good or bad.

"Um, you told Kitty a story," I continued, red. "You didn't kill Witchy for telling us you was sick, you-"

Spot turned around fast as you please and kissed me.

Holy crap, he kissed me!

Spot Conlon. Gypsy. Kiss. Crap, what am I gonna tell the girls? Holy crap, what am I gonna tell Kitty?

You just saw this coming, didn't you? Of course. I live in Brooklyn, I'm a chief under Spot Conlon, I'm wonderfully good-looking, I'm gifted with a slingshot, and best part, we have things in common.

Like insanity. And hot tempers.

It was wonderful, the kiss, if you like that sort of thing. I wasn't very critical, I guess, because the only thing that was going through my head was, _Wait, WHAT?_

When Spot drew away, I said something real smart, like "Oh," or "Um." I don't really know, 'cause my mind was going a mile a minute.

Spot said something equally stupid, and we reddened. Actually, I reddened, he went pale. I mumbled something incoherent, an apology, I think, and I fled.

Spot was left looking ashen, and I wondered if he could make it home.

I fled to the lodging house where I jumped on Kitty's bed, staring at the ceiling. I was too dazed to climb up to my own bunk above Kitty's.

I deftly heard the girls file in, wondering where I'd gone.

I deftly heard the other newsies file in, wondering where their leaders had gone.

I didn't care. My mind was swimming.

And with thoughts that made no sense.

Spot. Conlon. Kiss. Gypsy. Penelope. Dawn. Kiss. Spot. Conlon. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Crap! What to tell the girls? What to tell the boys? To tell anyone?

Should I tell anyone?

"Hey goils, she's in 'ere!" Sling called behind her from my doorway. She ran over to me, followed closely by Dicey, Jewels, Witchy, and Kitty.

Dicey held Kitty on one hip.

"Gypsy, tell us, what's the matter?" Sling shook me. "Please, Gypsy, tell me! Spot's AWOL and you've left us fer loony-land!"

I shook her off and smiled vaguely. "There ain't anything wrong." I still stared at the ceiling.

"For Brooklyn's sake!" Jewels cried, flinging her arms in the air. "She's gone nuts!"

"No she ain't. Witchy said quietly, leaning against the bedpost.

Gazes flicked at Witchy fast as lightning.

"Gypsy are you crazy?" Witchy demanded.

"Hey, it ain't my fault." I protested.

"What?" Jewels demanded. "Tell us now!"

"Spot-" Witchy began.

I sat up, banging my head against the bunk above me.

"Witchy, if you value your life you'll shut yer gob right now!" I growled, clutching my forehead.

Witchy shrugged. "Ya coulda said please." She looked at me. "Boy, you're in a tight Spot." She snickered at her own joke.

I glared at her. "It ain't funny, Witchy."

Kitty clambered out of Dicey's arms to crawl over to me on the bed.

She clutched me tight, as if she were afraid I'd disappear.

And that's how I fell asleep, in Kitty's bed, with Kitty sleeping beside me, and my second in command debating with her prophet, her thief, and her caretaker.

This could get messy.

Plz review!


	7. Snoops and Deja Vu

When I woke the next morning, Witchy was shaking me awake, getting me up a few minutes before everyone else.

I sat up, banging my already bruised forehead against Witchy's hand that had managed to cover her forehead.

As I cursed and got out of bed, I looked around. Everyone was still sound asleep, waiting for the alarm that woke us up every morning.

Witchy waited for me to dress, then gestured for me to follow her.

"I wanna show you something." She whispered.

I nodded and followed her. She led me down the hall, but when I turned to go down the stairs, she shook her head and went into the boys' rooms.

"But we're not s'posed to go in there." I hissed.

Witchy grabbed my arm. She hauled me through the door. She led me over to a door at the end of the rooms.

It led to the roof. And there was a figure sitting on it, looking out at the rising sun.

"Oh, no, Witchy, please no," I pleaded. "Not now."

Witchy pushed my forward and closed the door behind me.

Spot, quick as a flash, stood and turned, slingshot primed and ready. When he saw it was just me, his eyes flickered and he put away his slingshot.

I hadn't moved.

He sat down, looking out at the sunrise again.

I came to sit beside him.

"Go 'way, Gypsy." Spot mumbled, not looking at me.

"If I did as you told me, I'd never have gotten into Brooklyn in the first place." I pointed out. "What was it you told me when I first got here? When the Bulls were chasin' me?"

"Couldn't ya've waited 'till after food?" Spot and I chorused with grins.

Our grins faded after a while.

We both looked out.

"Spot?" I said cautiously. "About yesterday…"

"Don't," Spot said. "Please, Gypsy."

"Spot," I said. "I ain't goin' away, and that kiss ain't goin' away either."

Spot breathed out heavily.

I didn't look at him. "It felt. . .nice."

Spot snorted. "Thanks, Gypsy."

I kept going. "And, I'm sorry. About running away. I was, confused."

Spot nodded, not looking at me. "I 'nderstand."

"And, I'd like you to know," I said quietly. "I like you back."

I blushed. I couldn't look at Spot, not that I was already.

Spot, for answer, went red and shifted.

"Um. . ." I said. "And I wanted you to know, um. . .I really liked that kiss."

I nodded a bit and bit my lip, getting up to leave.

I was mentally kicking myself for sounding so dumb, when I was almost to the door.

"Gypsy." Spot said. I looked back. He stood there, not a yard away, with this cocky look in his stormy eyes. He came forward. I didn't hesitate. I kissed him this time.

It felt better this time. I was mentally conscious, though blushing red and pale in flashes. Spot was doing the same, but he seemed happy, and I seemed happy. I _was_ happy.

It didn't last.

We heard something behind me. And Spot broke off.

"Don't," I murmured. And he came back in again.

I heard something else behind me, somebody.

Oh my god. We both broke off at the same time, to turn and see newsies crowding the door. When we turned, they scrambled for the door.

"Lackwit gut-gripping lily-livered popoinjay pig scummer!" I muttered under my breath.

Spot pulled out his slingshot. The few newsies still watching us ran for the door.

Spot opened fire, but they were already leaving.

We ran after them.

They were heading downstairs, losing us in the maze that is our lodging house.

When we stopped to regain the use of our lungs, I looked at Spot.

"Who knew we were up there?" I asked, breathing heavily.

"Wolf did," Spot said. "And. . ." His eyes widened.

"Witchy!" I ran for the girls' room.

"Witchy!" I yelled. She came forward.

"Witchy, did you tell anyone Spot and I were on the roof?" I demanded.

She got this mild look on her face. "No, why?"

I glared at her. "Because an army of newsies just saw their fearless leader kissing his third-in-command."

She squealed and jumped up and down and hugged me. When I made her let go, I growled, "Witchy, this ain't a joke, I gots to find out who told the newsies I was with Spot."

"Why?" Witchy asked.

I grabbed her shirt and pushed her against the wall. I thanked heaven that there was no one else in the room.

"'Cause or else I'll kill Spot, he'll kill me, and then our ghosts will haunt each other and Brooklyn for eternity!" I hissed. "Tell me, Witchy, I know you know!"

"I don't suppose I could persuade you to say please?" Witchy wondered.

I glared at her and narrowed my eyes.

Witchy sighed. "Flick, and Nick" She named a pair of twins newsies. "Flick, she was going out onto the roof, and she called her brother when she saw you."

I scowled. I let her go. "Get Sling, and the twins, and tell the girls to go on without me. I'm gonna go find our fearless leader."

I left.

I ran.

And ran.

I couldn't find Spot anywhere. Boys' room. Roof. Kitchen. Docks. Park. Distribution Center. Girls' Room (I was getting desperate!).

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.

I finally found him, yelling at Wolf.

I dragged them both away, telling them, "I found out who told the newsies. Flick and Nick saw us."

They both started talking.

"Stuff it, boys, I ain't in a mood to argue 'less it's with Flick an' Nick." I growled.

Spot flashed at grin at Wolf.

When I managed to drag them over to the lodging house, we saw trouble.

Same old, same old: REVIEW!


	8. Satisfaction

Witchy, who could kick a fellow's. . .teeth. . .up between his ears, was fighting. All my girls were.

Jewels, Witchy, Sling, Dicey, other newsie girls I recognized as Bonnet, and Hoops.

They fought against Viper, Poker, Snake, and three other newsies called Sneak, Smart-mouth, and Roach.

Spot and I went into action. Wolf joined in, followed by a newsie called Cock, and a girl called Sooty.

We pulled the newsies apart.

"What's goin' on heah?" Demanded Spot. "Answah o' I'll hang ye by yer toes from the docks!"

I didn't argue with his threats. I was thinking the same.

Dicey muttered something.

"What, Dicey?" I asked. "Why were you fighting?"

She lifted her voice just a bit and didn't look at me.

"Smart-mouth was makin' jokes. 'Bout you an' Spot." She said. She didn't look at me or Spot. "Sling and I took him and when the boys joined in the girls came to help."

I clenched my fists. I looked at Spot for permission. He looked stunned and murderous at the same time. Spot can do that. But he nodded, knowing what it was I wanted.

This is Brooklyn.

And I _will_ have satisfaction.

I socked Smart-mouth in the face as hard as I could, and stomped off.

The next day, I saw Smart-mouth with a broken nose, talking with Roach.

I didn't care.

I headed for the docks, where I knew I would find Spot after such an event.

He was waiting for me.

"Spot," I began. "I wanted to say, I'm sorry."

Spot nodded, murder in his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was angry at me, or just angry.

He took a deep breath. "Gypsy, I can't have ya heah." He looked terrible, but he pushed it away behind those stormy eyes. "Ya need ta leave Brooklyn." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

I nodded, blinking away tears. I get it. He's Spot Conlon, fearless leader of Brooklyn. Brooklyn is a hard place, where kids like us train with slingshots, and lie about headlines to survive. A leader of such a place has to be equally hard, but Spot's reputation was at stake if such fights broke out whenever we were seen together.

"Can I have 'till tomorrow?" I asked.

Spot nodded, and I left him there, giving way to tears.

It rained that night, fitting the mood like weather almost never does in real life.

I sat on the roof and cried, wet and soaking.

I cried and cried.

I was leaving Brooklyn, for the first time since the strike a year ago. And before that, I'd never left Brooklyn.

Not since I first came, from Manhattan.

And now I was leaving. And it was Spot who was sending me away.

I understood why he did it. It was bad for his reputation, me and him. His third in command, a girl who never obeyed his orders unless she saw the sense in them.

Especially me. I'm Gypsy. I guess I'm like a gypsy. It's about time I left.

Sling and Witchy and Dicey and Jewels and Kitty came for me.

They took me to our room, and helped me dry off.

"Where will you go?" Kitty whimpered, clutching Dicey.

I sniffed. "I've a cousin in Queens, and she's got a kid. I'll go there, see if Duchess will take me." Duchess was the leader of Queens.

"Will ya still come to the Newsie Nights that Pulitzer hosts?" Dicey asked.

I nodded. I sniffed again. "I'll try."

I fell asleep with my girls around me, Kitty in my lap, Sling and Witchy at my right, Dicey and Jewels on my left.

So? What dost thou think of mine story? PLEASE REVIEW! I know it kinda happened fast


	9. Slappin' Cat

The next morning was the saddest ever.

My girls and the girls I commanded turned out to see me. So did Spot and Wolf.

I hugged Sling first.

"Keep an eye on the boys." I told her. "And don't let Kitty sell with them."

Sling nodded and hugged me tighter.

When she let me go, I grabbed Jewels in a hug. "Don't let Sling work herself to death."

"I won't."

I stepped to stand in front of Witchy. She tried to smile. I tried to smile. I'd miss the lunatic. I hugged her and said, "Keep an eye on things around here."

Next came Dicey. I had so much to say to her.

But I couldn't say any of it. I just hugged her and she knew what I meant.

Then I knelt in front of Kitty, who was crying.

"Don't go, Gypsy." She pleaded. "Stay here with me,"

"I can't do that, Kitty." I said, refusing to look at Spot. "Be a good girl, Kitty. And take care of things for me."

Kitty threw her arms around me. I hugged her back.

When I pried her arms off me, I passed her over to Dicey. "Take care of her." I requested.

"I will, Gypsy." Dicey said. "And you take care of yourself."

Then I turned to Wolf, who was looking at me cockily. I had to crack a smile as my old friend held out his arms.

I gave him a hug and when he let go, I told him, quietly. "Don't let Spot's head get any bigger."

Wolf cracked a grin.

I faced Spot.

"Give Sling my place, and give Witchy Sling's." I blinked away tears. I stared at him, and tried to read his perfect pokerface. "I'm sorry, Spot, about everything."

I turned away from Spot.

And I looked at everyone who had become my family, and, for a split second, I hated Spot.

"Good-bye," I said, just loud enough for them to hear.

I turned my back on Brooklyn's gang.

A gang's who you have when you don't have anyone else.

-Tamora Pierce.

And now, I don't have a gang anymore.

I heard a sob, and turned. I saw Kitty slap Spot. She ran off crying. Dicey ran after her.

Spot just stood there. He looked at me, with storms in his eyes.

I grabbed my bag and let myself cry, letting Spot see it. Then I turned away, and left for Queens. And I didn't look back. I would've sobbed.


	10. Sparks of Brooklyn

It was dark when I made it to Queens. I took my sweet time about it. I spent most of the trip thingy thinking, and trying to stop myself from crying. I succeeded, and practiced my pokerface.

I knew where Queens was, and I knew where the Lodging House where Duchess and her gang stayed.

I was walking past an alley when they jumped me.

It was three kids. Two I didn't know. One I recognized from Newsie Nights.

"Jailbird!" I cried. "It's me, Gypsy!"

Jailbird held a hand out to stop his companions. "Spot's goil?"

I bit my lip. "I need to see Duchess and River." River was my cousin. "Please, Jailbird, it's important. I _have_ to see them."

"All right, all right, keep yer cap on." Jailbird gave in. "I'll take ya to 'er majesty."

I sighed in relief.

Jailbird did take me to Duchess' 'court.'

It was this old abandoned warehouse. But there was a throne of crates, and a girl newsie with cropped red hair sat on it.

"Incoming, Duchess." A newsie called.

Duchess looked up, gray eyes glaring. Duchess was a newsie ruler not known for kindness. She was known for understanding, not compassion or sympathy.

I nodded to her.

"Why're you heah?" Duchess demanded.

"Spot kicked me out." I said. "I ain't got nowhere ta go. I was hopin', maybe you'd let me stay."

"And why would Spot Conlon kick out 'is goil?" Duchess asked. She smirked a half-Spot smirk at my face. "S'okay, sugah, rumor gets around."

I looked at her, clearly saying, "I'll tell you in private."

"Yer cousin's River, right?" Duchess asked.

I nodded.

"River!" She called.

My cousin stepped out of the crowd of newsies that bordered the warehouse walls.

She was sturdier built than me, with dark hair like mine, but green eyes.

"Yes, Duchess?"

Holy crap, Queens is matriarchal. I'm gonna like it here.

"River, you're in charge of this girl now." She turned to her second in command, a boy called Namer. "Namer, what do you think?"

Namer looked me over. "New name, definitely. Gypsy's too. . .Brooklyn." Three guesses why he's named like he is, and two of those don't count.

I clenched my fists, but said nothing.

"What do you think, moonshine?" Namer asked me with a sappy smile.

"I think you need a dunking in the docks, Namer." I hissed.

"Fiery, sugar." He snapped his fingers. "Sparks."

Duchess nodded. "Good name. Sparks."

She glanced at River. "River, show Sparks around."

River nodded. She came out of the crowd and led me out the door.

New name. Wow. Didn't see that coming. Sparks. Doesn't sound like me.

For the first time, I wondered if I did the right thing in coming to Queens. Hell no, I didn't. I should've stayed in Brooklyn.

River took me by the hand.

"Come on Sparks, I'll introduce you to your cousin's kid." She said with a smile.

"Oh yeah, what's her name?" I remembered. River was always too cozy with a guy. And now she had a kid to pay for it.

"Named her Nelly, but the newsies called 'er Flowah." River replied, leading me to the back rooms of the warehouse. "We don't live in the lodging house anymore, It got bought up and torn down. So we live here. There's plenty o' room."

She led me to a back room.

There were newsie bunks, like in Brooklyn. But there was also a secondhand crib in the corner, next to River's bunk on the bottom.

"You'll sleep on the top." River said. "But be careful. Flower's sleeping."

As it turned out, Flower wasn't sleeping. She was just staring off into space.

River lifted her out of the crib.

"She's a good kid." River said. "She hardly ever cries."

"Can I hold her?" I asked.

River passed me her baby. She was a cute thing, with her mother's green eyes.

"Who's dere?" a voice came from a shadowy corner.

"Cloudy, it's River."

"I know _dat_," the voice said crossly. "But who's da uddah one? The goil holding Flower?"

"This is Sparks." River said. "Cloudy, come out o' da shadows, you're scarin' Sparks."

"I'se is in da shadows?" The girl's voice came as her small figure crept forward.

I could see why they called her Cloudy. Her hair was long and silvery blonde, nearly white. A flop of unevenly cut hair dangled over her face, obscuring her delicate nose.

Her large eyes could have belonged to someone much bigger. They were a light blue. But clouded over.

She was blind.

But she didn't want pity. She stared at me as if she could see. She challenged me to show sympathy.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Gy-, uh, Sparks."

"No you're not." Cloudy said. "You're Gypsy, Spot Conlon's goil. I know all about you."

I looked at River, who shrugged. "She's like that."

I looked back at Cloudy. "I was. But Spot sort of, kicked me out." I bit my lip.

"Sorry about that." Cloudy said. She faced River. "What does she look like?"

River peered at me. "She's got blue eyes, and brown hair."

Cloudy nodded. "Can I speak with Sparks alone?"

River took Flower from me and said, "Sure."

She left and closed the door behind her. I looked at cloudy as she faced me.

"You remind me of a girl I left behind in Brooklyn. Witchy." I said.

Cloudy smiled. "I met Witchy. S'not often that there's two at a time gifted like we'se is."

Such modesty. Cloudy continued, "But I can still see, though not in the way you do." She grinned. "You liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike 'im. Spot Conlon, fearless, 'eartless leadeah of Brooklyn. And Gypsy, Spark of Brooklyn, outcast, and living in Queens." She fell to the ground, cackling like Witchy would have done.

I had to smile. A piece of home, then. Witchy and Cloudy.

Until Cloudy bumped her head against the crib and swore. I laughed a bit and helped her up.

"So what will you do, now?" Cloudy asked.

I shrugged, then remembered she couldn't see me. "I don't know. I guess I'll learn my way around Queens."

"And Newsie Nights?" Cloudy inquired.

I bit my lip. "Should I go?"

"Go and see the guy who kissed ya twice an' den kicked ya outta Brooklyn?" Cloudy demanded. "Hell, yeah!"

I half laughed.

I cried myself to sleep later.

Queens wasn't so bad.

But it wasn't Brooklyn.

For one, Queens was matriarchal, and it was great. Duchess ruled with an iron fist, cloaked in boxing gloves.

For another, Queens had Cloudy, and Jailbird, and River, and Flower to keep me company.

But Brooklyn had Sling. And Jewels and Dicey and Witchy and Kitty.

And Brooklyn had her fearless leader, Spot Conlon.

Spot Conlon belongs to Brooklyn, not to any mere girl. I get that now. But it still hurts.

I was Gypsy, Spark of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon's girl, third in command of Brooklyn's newsies, head of her girl newsies, and the happiest girl alive.

Now I'm Spark of Brooklyn, in Queens, made outcast by Spot Conlon. The irony. Cloudy was right.

Well? Review, review, you know the drill.


	11. Oh, Right

The next day was too similar and too different from Brooklyn.

I sold my papes with River, who left Flower with Jailbird. They took turns looking after her.

I sold well, and when we were done, we went to a café, like I used to in Brooklyn.

I ordered what I always do, and I could almost see Sling smiling at me, Dicey taking dice out of her pocket, Jewels swiping silverware, Witchy catching her, Kitty climbing onto my lap, and Spot coming over to bug us.

For a few seconds, I was home, then I snapped out of it.

"What do you do in Queens?" I asked River. "Like, after selling."

River looked at me. "We go home. Duchess is da one that fends off the tax people, and so we pay her fo' da lodging. Den we usually just play cards and stuff all night."

It sounded like what we did in Brooklyn. It was all too similar, it made me sad.

The days passed. I sold papes during the day sometimes, taking my turn caring for Flower, and in the afternoons, I paid Duchess for the lodging and played cards and dice with my fellow newsies, and tag and hide and seek with the younger ones.

But I won't bother you with petty details of Queens. In the long run of my story, it's not important.

In a few weeks, it was time for a Newsie Night.

Duchess almost didn't want me to go. But she gave in, knowing I wanted to see my girls.

It began when we entered the vaudeville theater where Medda Larkson let us hold the Newsie Nights. She set up poker tables on the stage, and greeted us at the door.

Brooklyn was already there, talking with Manhattan and Harlem.

Everyone turned when we entered, Duchess at the head.

Duchess is the only leader besides Cowboy that can match Spot. She glared at him, fingering the dagger she kept at her belt, and daring him to comment or smirk.

We girls were dolled up, our best newsie clothes and caps. That's as dolled up as newsies get, being newsies. Jack was standing with an arm around his girl, Sarah Jacobs, talking with Racetrack and Spot, when we came in.

Like everybody else, their eyes were fixed on us as we came forward.

I was near the front, with Duchess and Namer and the third in command, Pixie.

River had stayed behind, but Cloudy and Jailbird had come along with me.

A stocky figure, a delicate figure, a lithe figure, a small figure, and witchy figure darted at me. I knelt to hug Kitty and my girls.

I hadn't realized how much I missed them.

These girls are as good as my family. Scratch that, they _are_ my family.

Cloudy and Witchy talked together, and Jailbird flirted with Jewels, who was giving him what-for. I was telling Kitty and Sling and Dicey all about Queens when Dicey crept off to meet Alleycat.

"Are they together, then?" I asked.

Sling gave me a look that said, "Where have you been for the past billion years?"

Oh right, in Queens.


	12. It's Sparks

Kitty hugged me and I kept on telling her about Flower and Namer and River.

I don't know how, but I neglected to mention my new name. It just slipped my mind.

A shadow fell over us, like it had so many times at our table in the café in Brooklyn.

I looked up and stood, coming face to face with Brooklyn's leader.

"Spot Conlon," I said.

"Gypsy," He said.

Cloudy and Jailbird came up behind me to support me.

"It ain't Gypsy no moah, Conlon." Jailbird hissed.

Spot glared at him.

"Her name is Sparks now, Conlon." Cloudy said, glaring at him squarely with blind eyes. Just because her eyes couldn't see, doesn't mean they didn't show emotion. And now they showed a challenge.

Spot only looked sad. and mutinous, but for Spot, that's the same thing.

"Gypsy, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.

He looked so apologetic, I was almost sorry to say, "No, Spot. I ain't got nothing' to say ta you."

I picked up Kitty and took Cloudy by the hand. My girls and I went over to a poker table on the stage, and spent the Newsie Night quietly, playing with Racetrack and Cowboy and the Walkin' Mouth, who could absolutely not play poker to save his skin. Or the two bucks I won off him.

After our third came, Cowboy drew me aside and said,

"Why'd Conlon kick ya out?"

I glared at him. "He kissed me, I kissed him, Smart-mouth said I was a whore, big fight over it, bad for Spot's reputation. Any questions?"

He looked about to say, "Um yeah, could you repeat that in the language of the sane?"

But he changed his mind and said. "I went by ta see 'im de odah day, and 'e looked terrible. 'E didn't eat yestahday, ya know dat? He's hardly eaten anyfin today, eidah. An' 'e looks like 'e hasn't slept since the strike."

I looked at Cowboy. "Jack, I can't go back. Not now. Not ever, probably. Spot's reputation is Brooklyn's reputation, and if I ruin that reputation, I'll never be able to live with myself."

"Think on it, Gypsy." He said, batting my cap. It flopped forward to cover my eyes, and I had to take it off and put it bad on. Then I took off Jack's cowboy hat and threw it.

"It's Sparks." I muttered.

I went back to my poker game. We played a lot that night, and when it was over, we were all reluctant to go home.

Home. Normally that'd be Brooklyn, but I hated having to walk towards Duchess when it was time to go instead of Spot.

We were leaving, walking out on the dark streets of Manhattan. And I was realizing that I would not see Conlon for a while, as I wouldn't see the rest of Brooklyn for a while, at least until the next Newsie Nigh. I was walking with my head down when I saw a flash of light strike like lightning through the air to hit Spot Conlon. His group had been walking next to ours, but now he collapsed, bleeding on the cobblestones.


	13. He's Like That

"Spot!" I screamed. No one seemed to notice. I was at the back of the Queens group, with only Jailbird and Cloudy for company.

No, no, no, no, no, this couldn't be happening! Not Spot, not Spot!

I ran to kneel beside him, my Spot. My Spot, that held a special spot in my heart. He was bleeding, the knife stuck in his side. He was losing consciousness.

"Hang on, Spot, hang on!" I screeched frantically. I looked for my girls, who were beside me, as usual.

"Dicey, get help, Cowboy and his troop, they're the closest." I commanded. Never mind that I was no longer her commander, Dicey ran to obey.

"Jailbird, tell Duchess I'll be staying with Spot a while longer," I said. Jailbird nodded and left to follow Duchess's group that was rapidly fading, not noticing Spot Conlon's injury.

I realized Jewels and Sling weren't near. Neither was Hoops or Bonnet, who had both come with Brooklyn. I asked Witchy and Cloudy where they were.

"They went after the killer. They saw him or her." Witchy said.

I didn't answer. I couldn't recognize Spot under the blood. He didn't have any blood on his face, but it disguised him anyway. His stormy gray eyes didn't notice me, never mind that I was right in front of him. Panic rushed through me. He was ashen, his eyes were rolling up in his head.

"No, Spot, no," I muttered as his eyes fluttered. "Spot Conlon, don't you dare close your eyes!"

He closed them anyway. He's like that.

Poker passed me his shirt. I ripped it up and, gently as I could, pulled the knife out.

Maybe I shouldn't have. I started to sob, but I barely noticed.

Blood started to gush out and I swore. I passed him over to a Brooklynite newsie called Doc, who basically was a doctor. Guess where he got his name.

I held my Spot up, his head cradled in my lap, as Doc took over. I brushed a strand of hair out of his face. He would hate me doing that, having to need help, having me of all people providing help.

Spot, my Spot, my Spot Conlon

Him taking me in, both of us only thirteen at the time and him already leader of Brooklyn.

Spot giving me command of his girl newsies, and I was so happy I hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Spot pulling out his slingshot to save Manhattan during the strike.

Him dissing the judge that would have cost him five bucks if not for Denton.

Spot kissing me.

Then Spot kissing me a second time.

Spot nodding at me for permission to sock Smart-mouth.

Spot kicking me out of my home.

It all came back to me now. In flashes and memories.

And I loved him for it. I wanted to kick him for getting himself stabbed on a night like tonight, but I only set his head in my lap, holding his perfect hair with hands that were covered in his blood. Spot, my Spot Conlon. I knew his name, can you believe that?

"Spot!" I sobbed. He was unconscious. He couldn't hear me, not that he ever listened.

I knew him once, when I was a little girl, before newsies, before Brooklyn.

Spot Conlon, as a little boy. And he still wore that dark blue shirt.


	14. Back Stories and Assassins

I knew him once, when I was a little girl, before newsies, before Brooklyn.

We were little kids, only eight or nine.

We use to be neighbors in an apartment building in Manhattan, one of the better ones.

We'd play in my apartment, because his parents were terrible. He used to come over to my place to play while my parents were working. He used to come with a black eye or a cut or a red mark on his face, and we'd sit down and play hospital.

He was Max then, Max Conlon.

Max was a sweet kid, and he'd play being the leader of our own gang, the Sneaks, and I would be his second in command.

His uncle, the only good guy in the Conlon family, was the one who gave him his first slingshot. He was a drunk, so Max's parents wouldn't let him take him. Which was rubbish, seeing as Max/Spot's parents were also drunk.

I had a crush on him then, and when he was leaving one day to go home, I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, and we both turned red and he ran off, like I did on our first real kiss much later.

We were playing out in the street one day, a few weeks after that kiss, when Max/Spot's father came by and flew into a range. He was drunk. In his tantrum, while Spot and I cowered, Max's dad bashed his two bottles against Spot's head. When Spot collapsed, unconscious, his dad, drunk as always, held him up and shook him, trying to wake him up.

I called for help. When the police came, he dropped Spot who banged his already bloody head against the ground and the police went after him, not paying attention to the two kids that lay against an alley wall.

I had sat with him like I had now. His bloody head in my lap, me stroking his hair.

He had lost his memory, and been sent to Brooklyn, far away from his abusive parents, who promptly forgot about him. They never told me where they sent him, so to me he disappeared.

Spot's uncle still visits him sometimes. He gave Spot his slingshot and pimp cane, and his favorite cap as birthday presents. He never tells Spot about his life before, and all Spot knows is that he is his uncle, but he doesn't even know if he's the brother of Spot's mother or father.

When Spot woke up, the only thing he could remember was his last name, Conlon, and what we nicknamed him, Spotty, because of his freckles. When they faded, he still went by Spot, and took the Brooklyn throne at twelve.

I heard about him, and I went looking for him.

My family was dead now. I had an aunt somewhere, and cousins beside River. I even had a sister, a newsie in Staten Island, but my parents were dead.

I was starving, I couldn't find Spot's headquarters, and it was getting dark. I stole a loaf of bread and ran for it. When I ran into a café to hide, I bumped into Spot.

I didn't know who he was at first, until I begged him to help me and he whined, "Couldn't ya 'ave waited till aftah food?"

When he had taken me to the newsies' lodging house, I met Witchy, a girl only a year older than me, who took me under her wing and formally introduced me to Spot Conlon, the boy who had taken the Brooklyn throne at twelve, saved my skin from the Bulls, and would one day be a legend.

Now, Spot Conlon, the fearless Brooklyn leader, he lay in my lap, unconscious, with a bloody chest and a knife laying nearby.

Jack ran towards us, eyes wide. Racetrack, Kid Blink, Mush, David, Sarah, Specs, and Bumlets were with them. The rest were ordered to head off to their lodging house.

We managed to get Spot back to Brooklyn, and in a separate room.

When we first got Spot back to Brooklyn, Jewels and Sling were waiting for me, with the assassin in their grasp.

I strode forward, punching Kid Blink as he tried to stop me. Racetrack and Mush and Specs held Blink back and stopped Bumlets from going after me. Sarah stopped Jack with a shake of her head.

I ran forward. I pulled the assassin out of Jewels' and Sling's grip and up against the wall, taking out my knife and pressing it to his throat.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." I growled as beads of blood appeared on the assasin's throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat right here and now."

The assassin, hazel eyes sparkling mockingly, only sneered. "I know who you are, Penelope Dawn. You are the Spark of Brooklyn and you will blaze through the city. Fire brings destruction, girlie," He said, "And you'd be wise to remember that destruction is most definitely not good."

"And how about _your_ destruction?" I hissed, anger blazing in the place of my fire. "Is the destruction of an assassin 'definitely not good?'"

A hand on each shoulder, Cloudy and Witchy, pulled me away.

"He ain't woith it," Witchy murmured.

I lost it.

"Let me at the dirty rotten bastard!" I screamed. Jack came to help hold me back as his boys helped bring Spot upstairs.

Jewels and Sling grabbed the assassin and thrust him into a chair.

As I screamed threats, Jack ordered, "Soich 'im, an' take away anythin' 'e's got, an' tie 'im up."

Jewels nodded.

How could they be so damn calm?

I fought Jack, but for once, the first time in years, I couldn't beat the older boy.

"Francis Sullivan, get yer scabbah ambahstad hands offa me!" I screamed. "Let me at 'im! Let me _at_ the stinkin' bastahd!"

Jack hauled me away. He took my back to the room I had shared with my girls when I still lived here.

He sat me on my bed and sat next to me.

"You remind me of Spot, you know." Jack said, keeping a firm grip of my arm in case I tried to run. "He wanted to kill me when I turned scabber."

I didn't say anything. I remember that day well. I was with Spot, trying to break free of the police to soak the dirty scabber that was Francis "Jack Kelly" Sullivan.

"I did, too, ya know." I said finally. Jack shrugged in acknowledgement. "I hated ya. I wanted ta see ya dead and buried." Diplomacy doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Jack almost winced. Then he sighed, "Save 'im fer Spot," He said finally, "'E'll nevah fohgive ya if ya don't let 'im deal with 'im."

I nodded. I can see the logic. And if Spot dies, I will cut off the tongue of that assassin and boil him in the blood and spit that protrudes from said injury. If nothing else, I have an imagination.

The next day, a doctor came to look at Spot. I paced in front of Spot's room. Back and forth, back and forth. Any progress I made was replaced as I spun on my toes and retraced my steps.


	15. Lucky Penny

I had rejected all offers of company, all seven in total. When the doctor came out, I asked if I could go in and see Spot.

He looked me over, "Are you his girlfriend?"

I gulped and nodded. I'll get lectured if Spot finds out, but I have to see him. Wait a minute, i just told the doctor I was Spot's girlfriend. But I had no time to ponder it.

The doctor sighed, "Fine. You can see him. But he's asleep so I don't know what you can do."

I thanked him and directed him to Doc, who wanted to ask some questions.

And I ran into Spot's room.

He had his breeches on, but no shirt, though he was covered in bandages.

My Spot was sleeping, on top of the covers, and I could see his condition.

He looked terrible. Jack was right. He looked pale and thin, and he had circles under his eyes, though they were closed. I sat down on a stool next to the bed and looked at him closer.

I always liked Spot's impeccable taste in the perfect sarcastic comment at the perfect time. I could almost imagine him making some snide remark to my face. And I would laugh.

I put my face in my hands. What do I do?

I couldn't stay in Brooklyn, not now, it would look like I was staying for Spot, though I was, and it would just create the kind of trouble Spot was avoiding when he kicked me out.

If I went back to Queens, who's to say Duchess wouldn't kick me out herself?

And where else could I go?

Penelope Dawn. I'm lost. Where can I go? Penelope Dawn. Penny, Penny, lucky Penny.

Wait a minute, it wasn't me saying that.

I looked up. Spot was mumbling in his sleep. Penny, lucky Penny, over and over again.

I ran over to him and knelt next to the bed. "I'm here, Max." I murmured. "I'm here, Max."

Spot spent the next few minutes mumbling and dozing, and he kept mumbling my name, all of them. Gypsy, Penny, Spark. See, that's creepy.

But it was also sort of sweet.

I was looking at him, thinking about his memories, my memories, the memories we shared in common, when he began to sweat.

"Spot?" I asked, half to myself. He murmured my name. He tossed his head once, twice. "Max?" He twitched at his name. "Max Conlon, wake up!" I said quietly. With a cry, he yelled, "Penny!" and his eyes flew open.

The first thing he saw was me, and the first thing I did was cry a bit and hug him. Very Mary Sue of me, I must say, but still. He's Spot Conlon, and he's hurt and he just yelled my name in a dream. Doesn't that count for something?

When I let him go, he sat up. Or tried to. He winced and I helped him.

"Penny-Gypsy-Sparks," He fumbled. "What happened?"

"You'se were stabbed?" I prompted. "Do you remember anything?"

"Not about da. . .accident." Spot said slowly. He looked at me, eyes wide. "You!"

"Yeah, Max?" I asked. "Got something to share with the class?"

His eyes were stormy gray like always, but Spot Conlon's fearless eyes weren't so fearless anymore.

I told him everything, all about his accident, and how Jewels and Sling got the assassin here, but not about how I went berserk trying to kill him and Jack had to drag me away.

Then we were silent for a bit, as Max/Spot ran through his memories. He should be hitting the kiss right about. . .

His eyes flashed.

. . .now.

When he seemed done scrolling through old times, he quietly asked, "Gypsy, will ya be Brooklyn again?"

When I hesitated, he said, "I don't want ya in Queens anymore, not so far away an' only Newsie Nights in between an' you hatin' me whenevah we go."

I rubbed the back of my neck, "Spot," I said. "I can't. The situation still stands. I can't stay, not permanently." I sighed, "Spot, Max, whoever you are, you should reach your uncle. And find your parents, if you can."

I got up. "I'll stay for a while, Max, but I'll have to go eventually." And I left.

I ran to see my family. My sisters, my _genuine_ family, and a few of my brothers, too.


	16. Sam And A Kiss

"Sam," I hissed through clenched teeth, "What are you doing here?" I wished for my slingshot, but it was still in Queens, among my things, hidden as a memory of Brooklyn.

"I came to see you," Sam said, tenderness in his eyes. He put a hand on my shoulder.

"Sam, what do you want?" I growled. I tensed, ready to punch if I had to.

"I heard a rumor that there was a killer around, and that he'd gotten Spot. And I know you live in Brooklyn now, so I wanted to see if you were all right." Sam's hand slipped to my arm. "I was worried about you."

"Samuel, if ya knew a thing, ya'd know I can take care o' myself." I told him.

Sam chuckled as if I were a child who was claiming I could take care of myself. Wait, what?

His hand slipped down to my waist, but I didn't notice, because he was saying, "Are you still doing that thing, selling papers?"

"Yes, I am, thanks so much!" I said, "Sellin' papes pays good, an' no homework besides."

"I see you've forgotten how to talk like a real person," Sam sniffed.

"No, I haven't," I scolded him. "Nobody talks like you'se does." I barely have a New York accent. Sam doesn't at all.

"Penny," Sam said, all sugar now.

"My name ain't Penny no more." I growled. "It's Sparks of Brooklyn an' rightly so!" I'd forgotten what Cloudy had called me until now, Sparks of Brooklyn. My Queens name, with my Brooklyn background.

"Sparks, you loved me once, right?" Sam asked.

"Maybe, why?" I asked. We were at the opening of the alley, so he wouldn't try anything.

"Because, I wanted to tell you, I still love you," You're kidding me. There's something wrong with him. But Sam kept going. "And I wanted to take you away from here, to Manhattan, where it's safe."

"Sam, I. . ." I thought of Spot, and my girls, and my family, and my new friends in Queens. "I. . .can't. I'se got family heah, Sam."

Sam's eyes hardened. "You mean that Spot Conlon's your family?"

"No!" I said vehemently, "There's Kitty, an' Sling, an' Witchy, an' Jewels, an' Dicey, Alleycat, Pokah, Wolf, Cloudy, Jailbird, River, Flower, an' my girls." I said, listing those I loved like family, because they were my family.

"What kind of a name is Cloudy?" Sam asked.

I sighed, "Sam, come by tonight." I said impulsively. "You can meet my family."

Sam thought it over. "Fine," he said finally, "But I want an explanation, first."

I got him to sit down, and I told him, "I used to be in command of the girl newsies of Brooklyn, and third in command of all the newsies in Brooklyn. Wolf was second in command of them all, and Spot in first. Sling was my second in command."

"Was?" Sam prompted.

"Spot kicked me out," I said. Thankfully, Sam didn't ask. "So I left, went to my cousin in Queens and her kid. Spot gave Sling my place and Witchy Sling's." Sam nodded and waited for me to go on.

I sighed, "It was fine in Queens. It's matriarchal, ya know, an' Duchess was a good leadah. I met Jailbird there, an' Bandit. River's my cousin there, an' her kid is Flower."

"Who names her daughter Flower?" Sam wanted to know.

I glared at him. "River. She named her Nelly, but the newsies call her Flower. That's how ya nickname somebody," I said, as if I was talking to somebody with an awful lot of empty up top.

"Continue," Sam said. I made a face and did so,

"I went to a Newsie Night an'-" Sam made me stop and explain Newsie Nights. I did so and went back to telling my story. "I went to a Newsie Night an' when we was on our way back, Spot got stabbed, it was a flying knife." I shrugged. "So I'm stayin' in Brooklyn, help run things while Spot's outta action."

"You must really like this Spot Conlon," Sam said. I knew where he was getting at, so I answered carefully.

"Well, Spot brought me in off the streets, let me be a newsie in Brooklyn, gave me command of the girls, let me come back an' help out." I shrugged again. "Spot's been a lot o' help ovah da years."

I stood and Sam did, too. Now it really hit me. My ex-boyfriend, coming to visit me in the territory of my almost-boyfriend that kicked me out and got himself stabbed. Wow.

I gave Sam the address to the lodging house and said, "See ya tonight."

Sam made a face, "Will you ever learn to talk like normal again?"

I flashed a grin. "Nope. Looks like you'll 'hav ta loin (learn) ta speak like we'se does." I said, with an over-exagerated New York accent.

Sam slipped his hands around my waist.

"Sam," I said warningly.

"I just wanted to say, I think you'd be better off in Manhattan, with me, than here with Spot Conlon." And the fool kissed me.

I'll admit, he was a good kisser. We kissed for about an hour to me before I realized what was happening, and that Sam's hands were slowly making their way down.

I put my hands on his chest and pushed, but over the years he'd added a lot of muscle. I don't know where he got it all. Papes weigh a lot, so newsies build up muscles, but Sam wasn't a newsie.

Finally, I stopped trying and waited for Sam to come up for air, making sure his hands didn't go any farther down.

When he did, I drew back and spat on the ground at his feet, and walked away.

I punched a few walls to make myself feel better, and went back to the lodging house.

I didn't tell anyone about Sam. I didn't think I'd be able to.


	17. A Family Visit

I was leaning against the wall, smoking and cigar I'd snitched from Poker, when Wolf came looking for me.

"'E wants ya, Gypsy," Wolf said, and there could be no doubt who 'he' was.

I nodded, and headed for Spot's room. He was staring at the ceiling when I came in.

"Ya wanted me, Max?" I asked.

"Gypsy, please," Spot said, "Not now."

I sat next to his bed on a stool. He sat up. I helped him when he winced.

"Penny, could you. . ." Spot looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, Max?" I prompted.

"Could you tell me about what it was like? Before Brooklyn and the accident?" Spot asked.

I smiled a bit and nodded. "Sure, Max,"

And I told him. I told him all about the games we used to play, how he'd come to my place with injuries and we'd play hospital, and how he stayed over at my apartment if both his parents were badly drunk, how Spot's uncle wasn't allowed to have custody, even though he was less of a drunk than Spot's parents and only got dizzy and sleepy when he was drunk, how he used to come over and I'd tease him and call him Spotty, and he'd tease me and call me Penny, and how I used to have this kitten, that I called Brooklyn, because that's where we both wanted to go when we were old enough, to Brooklyn, to be free and make our own choices, because Brooklyn was for the tough ones and we thought ourselves tough for surviving Spot's parents, how my parents were never around, but let us do what we want, how I was holding Spot while he was bleeding, in the opening of an alley, while the Bulls chased his dad and never caught him.

I spent the afternoon telling Spot about life as it was before, and we both laughed and smiled at ourselves. It was evening when Sling burst into Spot's room during a story involving my kitten Brooklyn, who was a black cat, a bucket of whitewash, and the two of us, and us ending up with a black and white cat.

Sling burst in and said, "Gypsy, there's a boy heah, says ya told 'im ta come heah."

I smacked my forehead. "Oh man, I fahgot about Sam!" I ran out of the room and downstairs, where Sam was waiting.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi" he said.

Bored of 'Hi' yet?"

I introduced my sisters, first Sling, then Dicey, then Kitty, then Jewels, then Witchy, and Cloudy.

"Where do you get your nicknames?" Sam asked.

I shook my head. "That involves back stories, and we don't do back stories." My girls nodded emphatically. Kitty looked at me.

"Gypsy, who's this?"

Sam looked at me. "I thought your name was Sparks."

"It was, but dey changed it when she went ta Queens." Kitty said. "Namah changed it." I picked her up and hoisted her on one hip.

"Namah?" Sam wondered.

"Nae-Merr," I pronounced. "He's the second in command of Queens. He's the one as gives out newsie names ta newcomers."

"And what's wrong with Gypsy?" Sam asked. "Or Penny, for that matter?"

My girls looked at each other, wondering about 'Penny.'

"Stuff it, Sam." I said, "Namah said Gypsy was too Brooklyn."

"And you let him give you a new name?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"Well, it was eidah dat, or get kicked outta Queens, too." I said. "It ain't zactly smart to offend ya leadah."

"And where do you like it better?" Sam asked. "Brooklyn or Queens?" He paused for a moment and added. "Or Manhattan?"

I glared at him squarely, "Brooklyn. I'se gots family heah," I said, looking at my girls, all of whom were looking at Sam, glaring at him. Cloudy stepped forward and turned to me.

"What does he look like?" She asked in her lilting voice.

I described him, every detail I could place, if only because it made him feel uncomfortable.

When I was done, Witchy and Cloudy grinned and said in unison, "You have no future here, Samuel. Sparks of Brooklyn fly where they will, and it is not always predicted where they will go."

Sam looked at them, then at me. I shrugged. "They do that."

Other newsies came in through the doors, the end of the afternoon paper. Alleycat came in and headed straight for Dicey, who smiled as Alleycat slipped an arm around her waist.

Poker and Snake and Smart-mouth and Petticoats, and Hoops, and everyone came over, and I introduced everyone.

Then everyone shut up.

I looked up at the top of the stairs. And I swore under my breath.


	18. The Great Spot Conlon

I started to make my way through the crowd. Sam followed.

"That's the great Spot Conlon?" he asked.

Spot looked white as a sheet, leaning on Wolf and the rail.

"Spot Conlon, are you crazy?" I demanded as I made my way up the stairs. Everyone was watching us. A few of the newsies left, not wanting to see this, but most stuck around. "Ya get stabbed not three days ago an' yer outta bed an' runnin' round already?" I pushed past Snake. "Wolf, why'd ya let him?" I demanded of the second in command of Brooklyn.

"Refusin' Spot's not 'zactly an option, Gypsy," Wolf said drily. "I'd like ta live till tomorrow thanks evah so."

"So that _is_ Spot Conlon?" Sam asked, his voice mockingly rising above the silence of the crowd. "The great Spot Conlon?"

"Sam," I growled warningly. He didn't pay attention.

Spot glared hard enough to peel paint at Sam, who didn't flinch. "Are you finished?" he demanded, "Ye're on my territory now, an' these are my gang." He gestured at the hundred or so newsies that glared at Sam. Witchy and Cloudy came forward, and Witchy's eyes were stare-y, like Cloudy's blind ones.

"Leave now, Samuel. There is nothing here for you." they said together. A few people shuddered. "Sparks of Brooklyn fly where they will and some sparks cannot be stomped out." Witchy snapped out of it, but Cloudy kept going. "Leave Brooklyn, Samuel. Gypsies and pennies are rare as rocks, but neither come willingly to those with greed in mind."

She stumbled and Witchy caught her, steadying her.

"Y'a heah?" she asked Sam. "Leave, afore we make ya." She threatened.

Sam glared at her and Cloudy.

Then he looked back at Spot, who was rapidly losing color. I pushed through the crowd a few more feet and Sam came in behind me.

"Spot, this is Sam, an old friend. From. . .before. You don't know him." I said, trying to tell Spot that this was an old friend of mine, not his.

He got the message.

"Pleased ta meet ya, Sam. Now get outta mah Brooklyn." Spot growled, stormy eyes thundering.

Sam didn't move only, stared at Spot. Then, suddenly, he leaped at Spot and they both went tumbling down the upstairs hall.

"Spot!" I screamed, but it was lost in the clamour.

"Wolf, keep 'em back!" I ordered, never mind that I was never able to order Wolf around. He just nodded and started yelling orders and pushing people back. Sling and Jewels and Dicey came out of the crowd and helped, and so did Poker and Alleycat.

I ran for the boys.

Sam was beating up Spot, who was trying to fight with one arm clutching his side, the left side that had been stabbed.

"Leave him alone!" I screamed. "He's hurt!"

"Gypsy!" Spot yelled. "Stop tryin' ta do my fightin' for me!"

"What fighting?" I yelled back, grabbing Sam and hauling him off Spot. "You're not fighting, you're getting beat up!"

Sam wrestled out of my grip and ran back at Spot.

"SAM, GET OFFA HIM!" I screamed. I punched him in the stomach, then when he rolled over to block his stomach, kicked his back.

Spot was sitting up, holding his side and glaring at me and Sam. I hauled Sam up and against the wall, where I held him with one hand and socked him with the other.

"Let me make this very clear to you, Sam, and drill it through yer thick head." I growled, low enough so no one else could hear me. "Brooklyn's a hard place, Sammy, and we'se gots the slingshots an' bruises ta prove it. An' Brooklyn's got a hard leader. Spot Conlon is hurt. But he will recover, and until then, I've got his back. And so have Wolf, and my girls, and the boys. Got that, thickhead?" I shook him. "I ani't nevah, evah leavin' him unprotected."

I drew a knee up between his legs as hard as I could

He collapsed and I knelt by him. "Got it?" I whispered. "Nevah,"

I helped Spot up and helped him walk down the hallway. When I passed the girls, I told Sling,

"Get rid o' him. Toss him in the East Rivah, drop 'im off da Brooklyn Bridge, I don' care, jus' get 'im outta heah." Sling nodded, as if I still were her commander.

I helped Spot to his room, and onto his bed.

"Dat was da most humiliyatin' t'ing dat evah happened to me," Spot muttered.

"Well, don't hurt yaself, thankin' me." I muttered as I left.


	19. All His Fault

I picked Kitty up and took her on the roof with me.

"Gypsy, I think ya sound more like me the longah ya stay heah. Da way you'se talks." Kitty said.

"Kitty, what do _you_ think I should do?" I asked Kitty.

"I think ya should stay here. Sling's nice, but she's not you, and she trys to be like you, but can't do it. And Witchy don't like being second in command. She'd rathah stay like she was,"

When my girls came up, I sat them down, and I realized I now included Cloudy in my girls.

When we sat in a circle, Dicey pulled Kitty onto her lap.

"What do you guys think I should do?" I asked my sisters.

They looked at each other, even Cloudy, which just looked weird.

"Stay," Cloudy said, "If Duchess an' Spot let me, dats what I'm doin'."

Dicey looked me over. "Stay. Ya can't go off on yer own and leave us heah like this again, Gypsy."

Jewels and Sling agreed, and so did Kitty.

I looked at Witchy, who was staring at me.

"Witchy?" I asked like I had so long ago. "You got somethin' ta share wit' the class?"

"I think yer all fergettin' the most important thing." Witchy said. I knew what she meant, but my girls looked at Witchy blankly. Witchy rolled her eyes and said, "Spot Conlon. Why did she leave? Spot Conlon kicked 'er out, for reasons she'll keep ta herself," She added hurriedly at my scowl. "But still, she may be welcome aftah today, or she may not be."

"So what do I do?" I asked. They had no answer for me. They wanted me to stay, to lead them and be their family. These were my sisters, never mind that my real one was a newsie at Staten Island, these girls were my family more than Pandora had ever been, and she had never even paid attention to Spot.

We talked about trivial things, Dicey and Alleycat, maybe hooking up Sling with Jailbird, much to both of their blushes, and Scamp's twin sister that had just joined the ranks of Brooklyn. Though how you join the newsies and leave your twin sister out of it is beyond me.

When it was getting dark, I went back inside. The girls stayed out for a while longer, no doubt to debate what to do about me.

I went in to see Spot. He'd eaten already, and was sitting up, playing with his slingshot and his favorite marble, like a little kid does.

"Max?" I asked. Spot growled at me,

"Don't call me that. The name's Spot." I went to sit on the bed next to him.

"No it ain't. It's Max 'Spot' Conlon. You're seventeen, leader of Brooklyn newsies, you had abusive parents, your uncle gave you your first slingshot, you were sent to Brooklyn to be away from your parents after your accident, you lost your memory, and they didn't tell me where you went," I told him. He's always left me on my own, always. Whether he meant to or not. It's not his fault.

"And who're you, 'zactly?" Spot demanded. "How come you know who I am, but I don't know da foist thing 'bout you?"

I glared at him. "My name is Penelope Dawn. When we were kids, you used to call me Penny, and I'd call you Spotty for your freckles." He reddened at that, but I went on. "When you went to Brooklyn an' they didn't tell me where you was, that's when I met Jack, an' Mush, an' Racetrack, an' Kid Blink. They were my friends, an' dats where I hoid dat Brooklyn had a new leadah." I took a breath and continued. "My parents were dead, my sister a newsie in Staten Island, and my cousins and aunt all ovah New York. So I went lookin' for you. I stole bread 'cause I'se was starvin', an' da Bulls nearly caught me until you helped me." I looked at Spot. He was glaring at me, as if this whole thing was my fault. Maybe it was, but I'd rather not explain it, unless you want a headache. "Den, I saw you didn't remembah me. Spot Conlon, my best friend, an' 'e didn't remembah me. Ya've called me Gypsy, an' ya've called me Sparks, an' ya've called me Penny. But ya didn't remembah me." I glared at him and said what I'd been thinking. "Ya left me, Spot. I don' care if ya meant to or not, but ya left me. Ya left me all alone in Manhattan, then ya kicked me out an' left me all alone in Queens. Thanks, Spot. Thanks a lot!" I left and slammed the door.

It felt good to finally say it. I'd pay for it, no doubt, but for now I was satisfied, that I'd finally spoken my mind and told Spot everything. He didn't know who I was? Fine. My name is Gypsy, Penny, and Sparks. I've been everywhere, and nowhere at the same time, an' it's all been Spot's fault. Max's fault.

But I can't blame him completely. He's been through more than I have, having to deal with this all at once, on top of getting stabbed, helping to lead a strike, dealing with me, and dealing with Sam. I wonder exactly how getting stabbed made him regain his memory. After all, he was stabbed nowhere near his head.

Max Conlon. He isn't Max any more. He's only Spot now, because he's left behind his past, and that includes me, I guess, or at least that kid version of me.

I went to check on matters.

Wolf and the newsies swarmed me. Sling, Jewels, and Sam were absent, so I assumed he was being taken care of. I hoped he had the sense to stay away.

I got everyone to shut their gobs, and I told them the whole story of Sam's attack, for the benefit of those who couldn't see. I left out my threat to Sam, just saying that I told him I'd crack his nob if he came back to Brooklyn.

I managed to escape somehow when they began to ask question. I always do.


	20. Forevah

I went up to the roof, like always. And Spotty was somehow up there, sitting on the roof, breathing heavily.

"Are you nuts?!" I demanded.

Spot twisted to look at me. Then he winced and half collapsed. I ran and helped him up.

He glared at me. "Are you nuts?" I repeated. "You was stabbed not three o' four days ago an' yer out an' about!"

"I ain't goin' nowheah," Spot muttered. I'm starting to think he needs a keeper. Or a cage. Maybe both.

He glared at me.

Yeah, both.

I sat next to him, looking out to the jungle of people and buildings that was New York City.

"Did ya mean it?" Spot demanded, trying to keep his cool. "What ya said, about me leavin' ya?"

I hung my head. Well, this is gonna be awkward.

"Sort of." I said, raising my head up to look out at the sky again. "I mean, ya did leave me. Even if it weren't yer fault. Ya still left me."

"I didn't have a choice, Penny," Spot muttered, still fuming.

I had to crack a smile. It was so like Spot. He's demanding stuff and trying to keep his cool at the same time, but this time he's weak and injured and he's still got the upper hand.

"Take yer Spotness off, Max, ya'll only hurt yaself." I told him, leaning with my hands on the roof.

Spot relaxed a bit, and looked out at the sky again. It was relaxing somehow. Looking out at the sky, that shifted with clouds and storms and sunsets and sunrises, but always stayed the same beneath it all.

"So what'll ya do now?" Spot asked.

I shrugged. "If Queens'll take me, go back. If not, maybe Staten Island, or Manhattan, visit home a bit, maybe meet dat aunt. Join a gang, or maybe go back ta school."

At Spot's horrified reaction, I hurried to reassure him. "It ain't so bad. Ya learn, at least."

Spot was silent for a while, then, as if it hurt, he said, "Can't ya. . .stay?"

I had to face him then, "Max, you know I can't. I left fer a reason, and nothing has changed that reason since I left." I shook my head. "I have to go, Max. Find my way, see what I can." I gestured out at the skyline. "There's a city waitin' fer me, Max. An adventure out there, an' I can do as I like," But I can't. Not really. The only thing I want is to be home, in Brooklyn, with Spot waiting for me, stabbed or no. But I can't have that. Being a newsie, you get used to not being able to have things you want. But not like this. Nothing compares to being Sparks of Brooklyn, and not being able to fly the one place I want to go, home, to Brooklyn and my family, and my sisters, and my position as third in command, and people who'll stand by me. Where I have people to stand by, namely Spot, our high and mighty leader.

"I gotta find things, Spot," I said, still looking at him. "I gotta." I stood and he did, too. "Spot, you'se is my best friend. Ya've left me, and kicked me out, but ya was always dere when I came back." I was almost crying now. I hated myself for it. Too Mary Sue. But still, everyone's got a bit of it in them, I suppose. And mine is just brought up to the surface by the mushy moments in life. "Spot, I can't stay an' ya know I can't. I'm sorry, Spot."

I turned away to leave, and Spot grabbed my arm. I could see Brooklyn in his eyes, our fight and stubbornness, our bruises rightly earned, the papes we strove to sell every day, the strike we fought for, the family we protected. I didn't know what it meant, but I could see my life and his, and Brooklyn's in Spot's stormy eyes. And I knew then, that this was worse for Spot. Much worse.

"Penny. Gypsy. Sparks. I don't care." Spot said. "I don't care." He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "I want ya ta stay, Penny. Forevah."

On sudden impulse, I hugged him. This has over all been a very mushy story, and I'm sorry for it, but I couldn't resist hugging Spot.

"I'm so, so, sorry, Spot." I said, "For everything."

"Me, too, Penny." Spot whispered in my ear. "Me, too."

Now I know something's wrong. Spot hasn't been very Spotty lately. Oh damn, is it because he's in love or something stupid like that? Damnit. That would make it my fault Brooklyn's leader is faultering in Brooklynness.

And now he's apologizing. Crap, Spot's gone, and it's my fault. But I guess that's okay. Maybe I won't go after all. At least for a while. I can live at home, with Spot, and soak any scab who'll make fun of him and me. It could be interesting.

I'm full of impulses today, and on another one, I kiss him.

This is the best yet. For one thing, we're both fully conscious of what's going on, no one's watching, we're both kissing and we honestly wouldn't care if someone snuck up on us and snapped a picture.

Nobody does, though.

We both somehow fall asleep there, on the roof. Spot's leaning against the wall, and so am I, but we're somehow intertwined, and when I wake up, Spot's awake and we both run back to the door. But before we go berserk trying to find out what we've missed, Spot stops me,

"Gypsy, Penny, Sparks, whoevah. Will ya stay in Brooklyn wit' us?" Spot asked. "Wit' me?"

I give him a kiss. "'Course I will. I was bein' stupid. Maybe now I can come to my senses."

We run downstairs and people are panicking.

Welcome to the world of Oh-my-god-Spot-Conlon-disappeared,-oh-there-you-are-and-with-Gypsy,-too!-where-the-hell've-you-been,-we've-got-a-major-problem!

Entertaining, i'n't it?


	21. Jack's Hit

"Stuff yer gobs fer one stinkin' moment, ya scabs!" I shouted. God, I love to shout. Especially when it shuts everyone else up.

"Wolf," Spot ordered. "Tell me what's the matter."

Wolf replied immediately. "It's Jack. He's been hit."

Spot went pale and ran. I followed, yelling orders. "Sling, come with me. Dicey, take Kitty and stay. Everyone else get out of our way!"

We ran through the crowds of newsies. Wolf told us he was in Manhattan, so we ran to Manhattan, too.

Manhattan. I used to live there. Sam's there still, maybe. He said he wanted to take me home. I don't know what to think about going back there, apart from panic that Jack was hit.

We ran immediately to the newises lodging house. Kloppman was missing, getting a doctor or something, no doubt. Newsies were everywhere, but Boots towed us up to the newsies room, to Jack's bunk.

It was bad.

He was bloody, and Sarah was kneeling beside him. David and Les were there, too. And Racetrack, and Mush, and Blink, who glared at me but said nothing.

I ran to his bed.

He was bloody, as previously stated, all over his ride side. It hadn't hit the heart, I don't think, but still, it would hurt like hell if it didn't kill him.

"Francis Sullivan," I began to lecture him. "What the _hell_ happened ta you'se?!"

Jack smiled thinly. "All right, there, Spot?"

Spot gave a weak grin. "Well, I got stabbed a few days ago an' I think I'm half dead from runnin' all dis way. Gypsy's gonna stay in Brooklyn now, but her old boyfriend's got it in fer me. Oh, an' turns out Gypsy's my best friend from when I was a kid." Spot shrugged. "Meet Max Conlon an' Penny Dawn."

I slapped my forehead. Newsies chuckled around us.

I turned to Sling. "Do we still have that assassin?"

Sling nodded. Spot glared at me. "Ya caught dat assassin? When were ya gonna tell me?"

I shrugged. "Never got 'round ta it."

When spot opened his mouth to talk, I turned to Jack, "What happens now? What do we do?"

Jack shrugged, then winced. "I don't know. Who put me in chahge?"

We to smile at that. Then the Walkin' Mouth said, "You're all nuts." We looked at him.

"Excuse me, Mouth, but I'm 'fraid we kinda need a bit more explanation dan dat." I said. "What da ya mean we're nuts?"

"You're all crazy." The Mouth said. "There's a murderer loose on the streets of New York city, and you're contemplating what to do on the almost-deathbed of Manhattan's newsie leader."

"David!" Sarah protested. Racetrack slapped his forehead and I felt like doing the same.

"Hey, Mouth," I said. "Can I talk ta ya fer a second?"

I grabbed his arm and dragged him to a corner, behind a few bunks.

I slapped him lightly, like I would slap Witchy, or some idiot who was just being an idiot. "Are you crazy?! We'se is newsies. If we ta da Bulls, do ya think they'll believe us, or toss us out onta da streets?"

Of course, the Walkin' Mouth had to protest. "I actually went to school, Penelope. I know things you don't, things about government and stuff."

I kicked him in the shins. "Ya think?" I switched to proper Walkin' Mouth talking. "I went to school, Davey Jacobs, and I was best friends with Spot Conlon when we was kids. Then his nutso dad half killed him and left him to die while the Bulls completely ignored the two bloody kids and went to chase after his dad." I got right in front of his face. "Don't ya dare tell me you went to school, so that makes you better'n everybody else. I been ta school, and I learned everythin' I know from bein' a newsie."

I grabbed his arm and towed him back to the groups. Spot was smirking his smirk, and I smirked back. I whirled on Davey. "And it ain't Penelope. It's Gypsy, Mouth."

Even Jack had to laugh while Davey fumed.

We were brainstorming ideas, mainly torture methods for the assassin, (I suggested boiling in oil, and Davey demanded to know exactly where I went to school), when we heard yells outside. Yells of some kid being chased by the Bulls.


	22. Dollface

We ran outside, all of us except Sarah, who stayed in with Cowboy and yelled after us to be careful.

I bet we looked weird. A hot guy like Mush, running with a one eyed Blink, a betting Italian Racetrack, the Walkin' Mouth, the Mouth's kid brother, the King of Brooklyn, the King of Brookly'n girl, and the King of Brooklyn's fourth in command. Wow, yeah we probably looked weird.

Anyhow, we ran outside. Two kids were cornered by the Bulls.

I went into action. I ran in front of them and told the Bulls, "Thanks so much for finding me brudder an' sistah." I turned and pretended to scold them. "I been lookin' everywhere fer you'se. Where you been?"

"They stole bread, miss," A Bull told me.

I looked at the kids. They were starving, no doubt. "Aw, fer shame, kids. Give dese nice gentlemen dere bread back. Now," I added as they hesitated.

The girl handed it over.

The Bulls left. That young officer that had called me 'miss' tipped his hat to me and I nodded without a smile.

I turned to the kids I'd just saved.

The girl took her younger brother in hand and I looked them over.

They were both skinny, too skinny.

The girl had dark blonde hair to her ears, cut like a boy's hair. She had big blue eyes, and a face that looked perfect even with a streak of mud on her cheek. She looked like her face belonged on a porcelain doll. She looked a year or two or three younger than me.

The boy was about Kitty's age. Maybe a bit older. He had red hair, and gray eyes. But they had the same nose and cheeks, and when the boy smiled at me, I could see perfect pearly white teeth.

The girl looked at me gratefully. "Thanks for that." She said. "My name is Linda, and this is my brother Eric."

I smiled at them. "My name's Gypsy. Also known as Sparks." I pointed to each boy as they came over. "Dat's Mush, and Racetrack, and Kid Blink. An' dat's Davey, da Walkin' Mouth," Davey pouted and glared at me. "An' 'is kid bruddah, Les."

I pointed to Spot. "And dat's da famous Spot Conlon, King o' Brooklyn."

Spot smirked evilly and Linda gawped. Eric grinned and said, "Cool!"

I laughed a bit. Then I pointed to Sling. "And that's Sling, my second in command, and the fourth in command of Brooklyn's newsies."

Linda peered at us. "Who _are_ you people?"

We all grinned evilly, and Spot stepped forward to smirk at the kids.

"We'se is newsies," he said real Spot-like.

Lina peered at me. "And you? Are you a newsie, too?" She said, like she didn't believe it.

I smirked a Spot smirk. I bet he's got it copyrighted. "Meet the leadah o' Brooklyn's goil newsies, an' da thoid in command o' all o' 'er newsies."

Spot rolled his eyes, and Eric gaped. Linda looked at me like she thought I was joking.

"So how 'bout you, dollface?" Race asked. "What're you an' yer bruddah doin' runnin' from da Bulls?"

"The who?" Linda asked, puzzled.

Blink threw up his arms. "Jesus Crist, she went ta school!"

I smacked my forehead as David, the only nice one of us, explained who the Bulls are.

Linda made a face. "Dad went to jail. Mom died." She shrugged. "We got kicked out because we couldn't pay the rent. We've only got what we have in our pockets."

We looked at each other.

We grabbed the kids and yanked them inside to see Jack.

"Francis Sullivan!" I yelled. "We need ya help!"

"Sheesh, Pen, stop shoutin'." Jack reprimanded. Then he eyed Linda and Eric. "Who're you, dollface?" Sarah knew he didn't mean it. She just slapped his shoulder and said to Linda,

"Hello. I'm Sarah Jacobs, and this is Jack Kelly."

Eric looked confused. "I thought she called him Francis Sullivan." He said, pointing to me.

"It's a long story, kid." Cowboy said. "Ya are?"

"I'm Eric, and this is my sister Linda. She's older." Eric said. Linda rolled her eyes.

The Manhattaners exchanged wide-eyed stares. Les gawped at Linda and Eric. I didn't get it. Even Jack looked stunned.

Linda looked them over, and for the first time, I noticed what she was wearing. It was a dress, ragged and torn and dirty, and it didn't fit right.

"And what are you doing in bed?" Linda asked.

I stepped forward. "Dollface, this is Cowboy, leader of Manhattan." I said, giving her a be-nice glare. "He was stabbed. Spot was, too, a few days ago."

Linda eyed Spot, who glared back. Then Linda turned to me.

"And this Jack Kelly can help us how?" she inquired all proper like.

Mush looked at David. "What do dey _teach_ kids in school?"

I rolled my eyes. "Tell 'em, Jack." I ordered.

Jack sighed. "I was in a situation like yours, too, kid, an' I became a newsie." He looked at Spot and Sling and me. "Will ya take 'em?" he asked. "Da LH's full. We got no room fer anuddah pair o' newsies."

I looked at Spot. He groaned and said, "I'm goin' soft." I smiled, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and he said, "Fine," he looked at Linda and Eric. "You can be newsies in Brooklyn."

Eric cheered and whooped. Linda looked Spot over. "What's Brooklyn got that Manhattan doesn't?"

I was glad that I'd had a new slingshot made. Spot and Sling and I pulled out our slingshots, and fit a marble in them. We took aim, and fired, knocking bottles off shelves in the washroom twenty paces away.

Linda looked at us, wide-eyed. "Would we get to learn to do that?"

Spot smirked. "Depends. It's up ta ya comandah, if ya stay."

Linda nodded.

On our way back to Brooklyn, we were silent. There wasn't much to say.

But upon our arrival, we were greeted by chaos. Welcome to Brooklyn, sweetcheeks, I thought as Linda looked around, dismayed at the chaos.

I put my fingers to my mouth and whistled.

People clapped their hands over their ears and shut the hell up.

"All right, ya bums, listen up!" I yelled. I pulled Linda and Eric up to the front.

Spot came with us, and my girls, led by Sling, found us there. Spot continued.

"We'se gots two more newsies!" People cheered. When they shut up again, Spot went on. "This dollface is Linda, and her kid bruddah's Eric."

Kitty crept forward. "Hi Eric," she said timidly.

Eric waved. I said, "Eric, this is Kitty, the youngest newsie in Brooklyn."

Eric smiled at Kitty. "You're pretty," He said shyly.

People laughed all around us. I snapped my fingers and made a face. For a second I reminded myself of Namer in Queens.

But I told Spot, "Newsie names. Dollface and Romeo."

Spot smirked. "Alright, guys, we'se gots two new newsies now, Dollface an' Romeo!" People cheered.

While Spot and Wolf showed Romeo around, I introduced Dollface to my girls, and Poker and Alleycat and everyone else. I showed her to her bunk, and she looked at me like I was crazy. Thankfully no one else was in the room when she started being rude.

"How do you live like this?" She demanded.

"Like what? Like real people instead 'o dolls?" I challenged.

"No, like street rats!"

"Because we gotta!" I told her. "What, ya don' think we'd give anythin' ta live in a big fine house wit' food on da table every night and a mudder ta tuck ya in?"

"I bet Spot Conlon used to live like that!" she said. "I bet he used to eat like a king every night, and left because he wanted to play at being a street rat."

I slapped her for that. A friend once told me I had the arm of a baseball pitcher. I half used it now. And I stepped forward menacingly. "Spot Conlon is Brooklyn's leadah, an' 'e's takin' ya in, givin' ya a home, when ya got nowheah else ta go."

Dollface glared. "Bet you know everything there is to know about the high and mighty Spot Conlon," She said, her voice soaked in sarcasm.

I fumed. "Spot Conlon's lived and woiked as Brooklyn's leadah foah years. His parent's beat 'im, an' he used ta come ovah to my house wit' a black eyes sometimes, because if 'e stayed at home, dey'd beat 'im more." I scolded.

Dollface turned her nose up. "Just my luck. I get stuck with a bunch of ruffians who have never heard of school."

I smiled sweetly and curtsied and switched to schoolgirl language. "Actually, miss, I did go to school. For years, in Manhattan. Top of the class, I was. Until I was left out on da stinkin' streets o' New Yoik ta die 'cause my parents died an' I couldn't pay da rent." I glared at her. "Bein' a newsie's given me more'n school evah could've."

I pulled a shirt, pair of pants, a hat, and a pair of suspenders out of my drawer in the chest of drawers. I threw them at Dollface.

She glared at me. "And you're the leader of the girls?" She didn't say it challengingly, or accusingly, or disbelievingly.

I nodded. "I'm Sparks of Brooklyn." The door creaked open, and Witchy and Cloudy showed their faces and finished the saying,

"And Sparks fly where they will." They said in unison.

Dollface looked stunned. I told her, "Dey do dat. Get dressed. We've da rest o' da afternoon, and you've mostly got yer pick o' boys heah."

I left, and the first thing I saw behind our twin prophets was Kitty and Scamp and Romeo playing.

Scamp had procured three wooden swords from somewhere, and they now fought.

"I'm da Knight o' Brooklyn!" Kitty cried, bashing Scamp with her sword. "Fear me!"

I laughed.

In a few minutes, the kids still played, and Dollface came out. She saw her brother get hit accidentally by Kitty on the cheek. It didn't even faze him, but Dollface yelped and rushed over to her brother, and pushed Kitty away.

Kitty fell backwards and onto her back. She pouted and began to cry.

Dicey raced up the stairs, and picked Kitty up. I stomped over to Dollface. Romeo was pushing her away, insisting he was fine, but she, as always, wasn't listening.

"What'd ya do dat foah?" I demanded. I never learned tact. It's inconvenient sometimes, but fights are more interesting that diplomacy. "Ya coulda hoit 'er!"

Dollface glared at me. "She hit Eric!"

Romeo pushed her away. "It's Romeo! And she didn't! It was an accident!"

I put my face in my hands.

When I took them out, Dicey was taking Romeo and Scamp and Kitty. Something about the sweet girl made Linda let her brother go with Dicey.

Dicey led them downstairs, and commenced to letting Alleycat tell them ghost stories.

I looked back at Dollface. She glared at me, challenging me to insult her. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "I just wondah how ya'll sell papes tomorrow."

Dollface looked at me incredulously. "But it's Saturday!"

I shrugged. "Ya still need ta eat on Saturdays, don't ya?"

I left her to ponder that, and headed for the boys' room, to go up onto the roof.

"Where are you going?" Dollface demanded. "That's the boys' room!"

I sighed, and took her by the hand, and led her up to the roof.

It was beautiful out, the perfect day, perfectly cool, with a storm at the edges of the sky. Dollface took a look around, and I could tell that, like me, she'd found a place to be herself.

I left her up there, and when Romeo asked me where she was, I showed him up there.

Then I went back, and I saw that the older newsies, Spot included, were drinking.

What the heck? After all I've been through, I deserve a drink.

Dicey of course, was being 'responsible,' so she took Scamp and Kitty and the younger newsies out to a park or something. Jewels and Cloudy and Hoops and Bonnet and Alleycat went with her. Everyone else stayed behind, either locked up doing whatever they wanted, or drinking, which probably went under the first option anyhow.

When Dollface came down with Romeo, she saw us all drunk. She gawped at the famous tough Brooklynites and we laughed drunkenly. Wolf, who had stayed sober for the purpose of making sure we didn't do anything too stupid, told her that the kids had gone to a park, and told her and Romeo how to get there. They left, and we went back to drinking.

When I finally went up to bed, because I was still just barely sober enough to get upstairs to my room, it was midnight.

The next morning, I woke up with a hangover. A really big hangover. So, we ditched work for this one day, and headed for the docks to cool off.

I took Dollface along for the ride.

"Gypsy, who exactly are you?" She wanted to know. Why now of all times is beyond me.

I rubbed my throbbing head. "I'm Gypsy, I'm Sparks, and I'm a Brooklynite."

And with that, I kicked off my shoes and socks, and suspenders.

"Coming?" I asked Dollface. She crinkles up her nose.

"In the _water?_" Well, duh! Where else would you swim?

"Yeah." I said instead, because I had too much of a hangover to bother with Dollface's antics.

Spot came over. He didn't have a shirt on, so Dollface took a good long look at him. I slapped her shoulder.

"Ow!" she squealed, even though I hit her about as hard as I would if I were a fly.

"So ya comin' or not?" I demanded

"No!" Dollface shrieked, as if she thought water was acid.

I shrugged, and ran for the edge of the docks.

My bare feet thumped the ground, and I crept up behind Jewels. I asked for it, I know, but I pushed Jewels in the water.

She shrieked and I laughed.

Then I was flying and Spot was laughing. So I grabbed onto him and pulled him in with me.

He splashed me, half cross, and half laughing his head off.

The day was scorching, and the cool water felt so good, flowing around us.

So I smiled and crept out of the water. Spot knew what I was getting at, so he crept out, too, and so did Sling and Wolf.

Together, we pushed Dollface in the water.

She screamed and thrashed in the water, even though the ladder was right next to her. After about five minutes of her screaming and us laughing, she found the ladder and climbed up.

"How dare you all!" she reprimanded us. We just laughed harder and harder. Dollface haughtily turned up her nose, and marched to a pile of crates nearby. She climbed up to the top, and we stopped laughing.

Sling and Wolf edged away from Spot, who fumed. I grabbed his shoulder.

"Spot, just don't-"

He shrugged it off. He clenched his fists. Then Spot growled at Dollface, "Get. . .the. . ._hell_. . .off."

Dollface looked at him calmly. "Why? It's just a pile of stupid crates." She settled herself in, putting her feet up.

"Dollface, get the _hell_ off!" I yelled.

"No," she said curtly, not noticing Spot's temper.

Spot tried to go for Dollface. Sling and Wolf were smart. They kept away. I did the stupid thing and tried to stop Spot.

"Max Conlon!" I hissed, low enough for only him to hear. "Stop that!"

He didn't pay attention. He tugged free, and I only grabbed his shoulder again.

Dollface was beginning to see that something was wrong. She peered at us.

"What's the matter?" she demanded. "It's just a pile of boxes."

"No, it ain't, Dollface, it's his throne!" Wolf said.

Dollface snorted. "That's stupid."

"It's symbolic, idiot," I growled, holding Spot. "So get da hell offa it!"

Dollface sighed and climbed off.

Wolf was smart. He marched over to Dollface, and pushed her into the water again.

Have I ever mentioned how awesome Wolf is?

Spot thanked me. I smiled at him, and pushed Dollface back into the water when she climbed out.

We jumped back into the water, and spent the rest of the day floating around in the coolness.

When we returned to the lodging house, we finally got around to dealing with the assassin.

He was tied to a chair, with this cocky smirk that was too similar and too different from Spot's smirk. He didn't look like being tied to a chair was a problem at all.

I wanted Dollface to see this, so I brought her, Sling, Jewels, our twin prophets, and Wolf.

The assassin just smirked cockily at us as we advanced.


	23. WAIT, WHAT?

We put Sling in charge of interrogation and she went right to work.

She pulled out her slingshot and put her heaviest marble to it, and pointed it at the assassin.

"Talk," She ordered. "Now."

The assassin eyed her, and drawled, "Whaddaya wanna know, sugah?"

Sling glared at him. "Who sent you?"

The assassin just smirked and said, "How da ya know I didn't come on my own?"

Sling let her marble loose. It struck true, on the bridge of the assassin's nose. He yelled, "OOOWWWW!" and ducked his head.

Though I did, Sling didn't flinch. She just repeated, "Who sent you?" and put another marble to her slingshot. "Tell me, now!"

"I ain't tellin'!" The assassin said, and this time Sling shot him in the eye. He yelled and ducked his head again. Sling did flinch this time, but stood her ground, as we all did. I heard Jewels explaining to Dollface why we were doing this.

"I want to know, right now, who sent you." Sling demanded. "Or so help me, I'll bruise every inch of you!"

I bit my lip. If he didn't talk, things could get ugly.

The assassin glared at Spot. "You know who sent me."

Spot clenched his fists. "Say it," He ordered. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Spot," I said warningly.

"Say it!" Spot demanded.

"Fox sends his regards," The assassin said. "And he says he wants his throne back."

With that Spot punched the assassin and stormed out. I knelt in front of the assassin and shook him by the shoulders.

"Who da hell's Fox?" I demanded. "What does 'e want wit' Spot?"

The assassin grinned, "Ask 'im dat yourself. Fox wants to see you." He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Brooklyn Bridge. Midnight tonight. Bring me wit' you, but go alone uddah dan dat. And you'll learn everythin'."

I pulled away, and stormed out of the room, telling Sling, "Lock 'im up. Ya don't need a guard, just tie 'im up." I could almost feel the assassin grinning at me from behind.

I looked for Spot. He wasn't in the boys' room, so I checked on the roof. There he was, glaring out at the sunset, fists clenched.

I didn't ask what was wrong, I didn't try to calm him down, I just got him to sit down, with both our feet dangling over the edge.

I began to hum a song my mom used to sing to the both of us whenever Spot came over. It was a simple enough tune, and it carried sweetly on the wind.

When Spot looked expectantly at me, waiting for the question, I told him, "I'm not gonna ask who Fox is, or what he wants with you. I just wanna know, is it very bad?"

Spot put his face in his hands. "I'll take that as a yes," I told him.

After a while, Spot just upped and left. I couldn't blame him. He didn't want to talk, and I wouldn't make him.

So I just bid my time until midnight. I dozed, but only to the point that, if I fell deeply asleep, I somehow got myself to wake up.

Finally. I checked the clock. Just enough time to get me to Brooklyn Bridge.

So I snuck out, and made sure to bring my slingshot.

I snuck out of the girls' room, and into the room where we held the assassin. He was wide awake, waiting.

I untied him, and he stood and stretched.

"You're welcome," I muttered, and hauled him to the Brooklyn Bridge.

It was pitch black out, but I knew where I was going. The Brooklyn Bridge, after all, is easy to get to, and not too hard to find. There were no carriages on the bridge, and I didn't see anyone or anything until they jumped me.

I was being stupid. I assumed that Fox, whoever he was, would be ready to talk, and do it civil-like. I never thought he'd do it the street way.

They jumped me, three of them, and the assassin helped.

They tied me up, and, though I got a few kicks and punches in, I ended up with bruises all over, the beginnings of a black eye, and multiple scratches.

They tied my hands behind my back, and gagged me. Then they marched me forward, to their leader.

From somewhere, his cronies had procured a few lanterns and lit them, so I could see Fox's ugly sneer, and I was brought before him.

"So this is the great Sparks of Brooklyn?" He smirked. "I was expecting more."

I glared at him. He turned to his henchmen, "Nice job. You will be rewarded." He waved his hand and the henchmen left, leaving me alone on the Brooklyn Bridge, with Fox.

He came forward and took the gag out of my mouth, trailing my jaw as he did so.

"Now, isn't that better?" he sneered at me. I got a good look at him. He was dark haired, with gray eyes, and a cocky face.

"What do you want with me?" I demanded.

Fox sneered. "Now, would that be any fun, if I just told you straight out?" He circled me. "It just so happens that I need information."

"And you expect me to give it to you?" I challenged.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Fox said. "After all, it would be very unwise not to."

"And why is that?" I asked loftily.

Fox smirked in my face. "Because otherwise, Spot will end up face down in the harbor tomorrow." I sucked in my breath.

"What do you want to know?" I demanded. It's not like I had a choice of whether or not to tell him. If Spot's life is at stake, it doesn't matter what he wants to know. I get the feeling that all the newsies in Brooklyn wouldn't be enough to protect Spot from this guy.

Fox smiled. "I want to know many things. First off, who is Spot Conlon?"

I glared at him as he continued to circle. "He's the leader of Brooklyn."

"Oh come now, surely you're smarter than that. I want to know, who _exactly_ is Spot Conlon?"

So I told him. I told him the bare minimum, but he seemed to know the right questions that would get everything out of me.

When he had sucked the last bit of information out of me, he said, "Oh dear. Now, what will Spotty say when he finds out somebody tattled?" I stiffened. My life is over. I'll be blackballed from every paper in the city, maybe the state.

"What more do you want?" I demanded. "I've told you everything!"

Fox laughed. "I'm prepared to offer you a deal, Sparks."

I glanced at him skeptically. "What kind of deal?"

Fox paced slowly in front of me. "I represent a gang of kids in New York. A gang that hates the newsies. As I see it, you have three options.

One: You could join us, and be our informant on Spotty dear.

Two: I could take you by force.

Or Three: You could do the honorable thing, and refuse to rat out Spotty, in which case I leave you to the mercy of the assassin you tortured, who happens to be an expert with knives."

All I could think was, _I should never have come here_.

What could I do?

On the one hand, I could spy on my leader, which was as good as spying on the president. In the complicatedly simplified government that was Brooklyn, that could be construed as treason, which would result in either me being banned from Brooklyn, or me ending up face down in the East River. Translation: Me inform on Spotty=*slices hand across neck*

And the other hand, being taken to that gang by force could result in being beat up, raped, or accidentally-on purpose killed.

The last option would be the honorable thing to do. It would not be pleasant, smart, or remotely sane, but it would be the best thing for Brooklyn. But what happens then. Will Fox tell them what happened? Or lie? Or just not say anything at all and let them wonder?

"Spot'll get you, Fox. Brooklyn takes revenge." I snarled at him.

"Time's a-tickin', sweetheart. Make a choice." He smiled sweetly.

"I'm not betrayin' Spot," I hissed. "But I'm not dyin' eidah."

Fox sighed. "Oh bother. I suppose this means I'll have to take you by force."

And with that, I ran. Or tried to. Fox caught up with me easily and grabbed me by the arm.

"Listen here, sweetheart." He hissed in my face. "You're coming with me, and I don't care what I have to do to get you there."

He pulled out a knife, and spun me around, facing the exit off the Brooklyn Bridge. Fox held the knife to the small of my back. "March." He ordered. And I went.

He took me to Harlem. And when we reached the opening of an alley, he hissed at me, "Stop." I obeyed. It's not like I actually wanted to be alone in an alley with the creep.

"It's me," He spoke into the alley. "I brought her."

Oh, I get it now. They never actually planned to let me go. No, they meant to bring me here to who knows what fate.

"Bring 'er in," a voice came.

"Move," Fox hissed, and prodded me with the knife. I winced and moved forward, into the alley. At the end, there was a door, into a building that made one side of the alley. A boy there let us in, and Fox pushed me forward, into a room crowded with people.

There was an empty space in the middle, but other than that, there were people all over. I couldn't count them all, but they all shut up when Fox entered the room.

Then a guy said, "Oh, did ya bring us a treat, Fox?"

And a girl shouted, "Haven't you got better things to do than snatch girls away?"

"Aw, shut it!" Fox roared, and slammed me down into the middle of the room.

I swore and spit at him, getting to my feet again.

"Oh, she's got a bite!" a boy sneered.

Fox grabbed me by the arm and held the knife to my throat.

"Guys, we've got ourselves a new recruit. Meet Sparks of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon's girl."

There were wolf whistles, and applause, and oooohs and ahhhhhs and cheers.

"Sparky here's refused to spy on Spotty dear. Who wants her?" Are you kidding me? I'm to be sold to the highest bidder?

"Oi!" a girl comes out of the crowd. It's my sister. But she looks more different than ever. She grew up. Last time I saw my big sister, we were the same height, and she a new member of Staten Island. Now, she's got a hard look about her, and her hands are scarred from knife fighting. "Leave 'er alone. She done nothin' wrong!"

"Really?" Fox challenged. "She's a traitor to us all!" this was greeted with a few cheers. "Here we are, trying to cause havoc on those who threw us out, and she's refusing to help us!"

He threw me down on my knees. The stinking coward! He'd soon see what Brooklyn had to offer the likes of him.

"Oh, let 'er go!" My sister drawled. "Or else we gotta _do_ somethin' wit' 'er and we're busy enough."

"Hey!" I yelled at the general public. "Don't I got rights?"

Fox kicked me. "You lost your rights when you refused to snoop on Spot."

"Trial by combat!" Somebody yelled. "If she loses, she dies, if she wins, she works for us."

"That doesn't allow much breathing space!" I yelled back, and I got a kick in the ribs again.

"All those in favor of trial by combat?" Fox ventured. Hands went up.

"And those in favor of hanging by the neck until dead?" Fox sneered.

WAIT, WHAT?

Hands went up.

"It's trial by combat!" a girl yelled.

"Who's she fighting?" someone else demanded.

"I'll fight," a boy stood and came out of the crowd.

It was Sam.

Crap.

The fight was supposed to take place at dawn. I would not be allowed a slingshot, or a knife, or even shoes. Both of us would be barefoot.

Until then, they tossed me in a makeshift cage, a closet bolted shut and completely empty.

So I sat down, and I thought about Brooklyn and Spot and my sisters and even the few enough boys that were close enough to call brothers. If I survived the trial by combat, I might never see them again. If I didn't, it wouldn't matter.

It all boiled down to Spot, see? All for Spot, all because of Spot, all about Spot. It's not like it was always his fault, but it was always because of him anyway.

Before I knew it, it was dawn, and me having dozed off.

My sister had the duty of taking me to the fight. Someplace in Harlem. I didn't care. I talked with my sister as we walked.

"What are you doing with these people? In a gang?" I asked.

My sister sighed. "Staten Island kicked me out. I took the blame for something my friend did, and I got kicked out. Sam recognized me, and he brought me into da gang."

"Does it have a name?" I asked.

She shook her head. "If ya join us, ya'll learn it and become a member, or they'll kill ya."

"Ah, da foolproof method." I said. "Charming,"

My sister ignored that. "You know Sam. He charges into things wit'out thinking. You can use that. And his left arm is bad, he damaged it in a fight. Use dat, too."

"Will I have ta kill 'im?" I asked. I may hate Sam, but I don't want to kill him.

My sister shrugged. "Depends how the fight's going. If one of you has to die, it bettah not be you."

We were within sight of the place I was going to fight Sam.

It was this little park, out of the way of the public eye, and completely empty except for those of the gang that had come to watch.

I gulped. Sam wasn't a newsie. I had no idea if these people possessed any form of code or honor. In the newsies, we help the street rats, we each get a leader, and they get seconds and thirds and fourths in command, the newsie girls get a leader and a second in command, and if you want the throne, you come out and fight for it.

That's how it's always been. But these aren't newsies. I have no idea what they're like.

I had no more time to think, because I was thrust into the circle. As everyone watched me, I pulled off my shoes and socks, and placed them off to the side. I placed my slingshot and my knife each in a shoe, and tied my hair back tight as I could.

I looked at Sam, and I knew I was doomed. Even if I won, this would totally ruin my life.

By that reckoning, I had nothing to lose.

So, when Fox yelled, "Go!" I smirked at Sam, and lunged. He dodged, barely, and the close save let me gain my balance again.

I kicked him in the ribs when he lunged at me. I ducked and dodged, and jumped back, and slapped him when he came too close to fight.

I learned it all in Brooklyn.

Eventually, we evened out. I was exhausted, but so was Sam. I decided to try my sister's advice.

I began to taunt Sam, using curses and names I'd learned at the hand of the best insulters in New York.

He went red, then purple, and insulted me back. I just kept skipping about, pretending I didn't care, until he attacked, and I dodged, to counter attack on his left side, where my sister said he was slow.

I twisted his hand up behind his back, and knocked him down, one knee on his back.

Everyone was silent. Then, reluctantly, Fox declared me the winner.

"Our agreement says we must take in this girl," Fox said, his voice bored, but his eyes anything but.

So I had to let Sam up then. He seemed awfully cheerful about it, seemingly forgetting that a moment ago, I'd been insulting him. It was weird.

Anyhow, they took me back to their headquarters, and officially initiated me into their gang, the York Lords. I thought the name was kind of corny, but who am I to judge gang names? It seemed fitting, anyway.

My sister introduced me to everyone, people I marked as possible friends or possible enemies. There were people here from every race, from every borough in New York. East Side, West Side, Coney Island, Staten Island, Manhattan, the Bowery, Harlem, Queens, Brooklyn, everywhere.

I met all kinds of people, until I went through them all, and ended up in a corner with Sam, at which point my sister promptly left me to go socialize.

So I was stuck with Sam.

"Hi, Penny," He said. "Um-"

"Yeah, guttersnipe?" I challenged. "Ya got anythin' ta say?"

"Yes, Penny, I do have things to say, and I-" he began.

"Ya know, it's really a shame, 'cause I don't care!" I told him. "Ya barge inta Brooklyn, attack Spot while part o' da gang dat stabbed him, and then I'm taken an' yer conveniently absent, and then ya fight me, an' now yer my best friend!"

"Penny, I-"

"Don't _call_ me that. I left dat behin' when I left Manhattan." I told him. I was glad no one was paying me any attention. "Same as I left _you_ behin'."

I asked my sister what I should do. I was tired, more tired than I'd ever been in my life, and I wanted to lie down and sleep for a year.

She took me to a place that looked like the lodging house in Brooklyn, but it was different, because everyone got their own room, and it was just for the gang.

I flopped onto the bed she assigned me to and fell asleep immediately.

And in my dreams, I thought of what I'd done. I could never look Spot Conlon in the eye again, not in the same way, without thinking of the information I'd given, the things I'd chosen and done.

The next day was my first mission. I was to go on a diplomatic mission to Brooklyn to prove myself. I would've thought that I would get something minimal to start out with. Maybe picking pockets, or whatever gangs do all day.

Oh, I get it now. They get to show off that I've crossed sides, and I get to be publicly humiliated. I wonder if this is how Jack felt when he turned scabber.

They marched me across the Brooklyn Bridge. Hell yeah, he felt like this. But they promised me no one would get hurt.

I wonder if they'll let me talk to everyone, to hug Kitty and just tell her to be a big girl. In a way, this is worse than being kicked out to Queens. At least then I knew why, and it was sort of my own fault.

We were half way to the LH, when Wolf, selling papes on a corner, spotted us. His eyes went wide, and he went pale. He ran for the LH, like a herald proclaiming that the York Lords were here.

Damn. No secret entrance now.

But I looked at Fox, and my sister, and Sam, and the others who had come with us. They didn't want a secret entrance. Today was fake, a big show, but all too real.

The first thing I saw when we entered the LH, was Spot, standing furiously red and glaring at us. He saw me and his eyes softened a bit.

I looked at him and I knew what he wanted. I shook my head, as tiny as I could. My sister knew what I did, and she slung an arm around my shoulders.

"Fox, what da hell're ya doin' heah?" Sling demanded. Normally, Spot would glare at her, but he's mad as hell right now.

"Why, I came to talk," Fox said innocently. "Surely I'm allowed to talk."

"Yer allowed ta talk when I'se says yer allowed ta talk, Fox." Spot growled, coming to stand before Fox. They were the same height, though Fox was more solidly built.

"Well, then Spotty, _am_ I allowed to talk?" Fox asked mockingly.

"Depends." Spot said. "What'll ya be sayin'?"

Fox sneered. "I came to give you news. We are taking the city. And we are here to give you the opportunity to join us if you wish."

Spot looked at me. "Really? To take the city? Is that really yer angle, Gypsy?" he challenged. I looked at him, but there was nothing but harshness in his eyes. I looked away. "Ta leave Brooklyn ta join dese street rats."

I clenched my fists. I wasn't angry, just . . . murderous. Does mad as hell count as being angry? Don't answer that. "Didn't get a choice, Spot." I mumbled. "I didn't pick it eidah way."

"Oh, but you fought by combat, Gypsy dear," Fox drawled. "And you won the fight, and we let her join." He turned to Spot. "She's one of us now, Spotty, so I want an answer. Will you join us or not?"

"No, Mistah Spot, don't!" Romeo and Kitty ran at Fox, waving their stick swords. Dicey and Dollface tried to stop them, but they ran past them and at Fox.

Fox smacked them away, leaving marks on the kids' cheeks.

"Stop it!" I yelled at him, as Dollface and Dicey took the kids back into the crowd. "You said no one'd get hurt!"

"They're not _hurt_, Gypsy dear," Fox sneered. "They just need discipline. Growing up wild in Brooklyn does terrible things to your manners. You should know. You went to school, didn't you?"

"Yeah, an' I learned more'n Brooklyn'n I evah did in school!" I told him.

Sam yanked me back and covered my mouth. My sister helped.

Fox turned lazily back to Spot with a glint in his eyes. "Spotty, I beat you before. I can do it again. I want an answer."

Spot glared at him. "What's in it fer me?"

Fox sneered. "You get to live. Most of these," he gestured lazily at the Brooklynite newsies. "Get to live, if they behave."

"And what's da catch?" Spot narrowed his eyes.

Fox grinned, "I'm in charge, and the York Lords get everything. You're just our pitiful subjects."

Dollface, who couldn't keep her mouth shut to save her life, stepped forward. "So, you're proposing a tyrannical oligarchy?" When Fox and Spot both looked at her, she shrugged, not at all nervous. "I went to school," she said explanatorily. "A tyranny is a government taken over by force. An oligarchy is a government ruled by a small number of people. If you factor in population, you're a small group of people." She shrugged. "If you do that, half of the newsies will leave."

She slid back into the crowd. Fox looked questioningly at Spot, who shrugged.

"She's like dat." He said, as if that explained Dollface completely. Which it did. "And we ain't backin' down."

Fox waved a hand, and a boy I didn't know, one of the York Lords, grabbed me from behind and put a knife to my throat. What is this, the third or fourth time since I started telling this? Sheesh, gimme a break, people.

I'm being awfully nonchalant about this, aren't I? Oh well.

Spot's face hardened and he glared at me. "You'se is complicatin' dis, ya know."

I half smiled. "I know." I told him. "But believe me, if I'd 'ave planned it, knives woulda been left out."

Spot turned back to Fox. "Whaddaya want?"

Fox smirked. "Brooklyn."

Spot took Fox to talk privately, and the boy let me go.

I rubbed my neck, and glared at the Brooklynites that met my gaze with hatred.

Damn, now I feel guilty for yelling at Jack when he turned scab. This situation is _soooo_ pessimistic.

Kitty ran to hug me. I hugged her back. At least someone was still willing to look at me and see me, not whatever I'd become. A traitor? A scab?

Dicey and Witchy and Cloudy then had to come over and give me a hug. I watched Sling and Jewels come over, and even Poker and Alleycat came, once they realized they'd missed me, too. Romeo came funning, but Dollface hung back. I smiled at her, and she smiled back and hugged me.

When they all let me go, I introduced them to my sister, who smiled and dutifully learned their names. We were talking, the York Lords looking uncomfortably bored, when Sam burst out of the room Spot was talking with him in.

"Sparks! In here! Now!" he barked. I bid my family good bye and ran to obey. Disobeying Fox is like murdering someone. If the law doesn't get you, the family of those you murdered does and you end up floating in the East River with a knife in your back.

In the small room were a table, and four chairs. One chair was empty, but Spot sat in another. Fox sat down in the one opposite him and I, lucky me, got to sit down right in front of the guys in my life. One hated me, one hated me, sensing a pattern here?

"Yeah?" I asked, when both were silent.

Fox rolled his eyes and spoke before Spot could. "We've decided that Brooklyn is handed over to guarantee your safety and the safety of the newsies."

My eyes widened. He did _not_ just say that nonchalantly!

"What da hell?" I demanded. "I'd raddah fight fer it again, if it's all da same ta you'se, instead o' handin' it ovah wit'out a fuss!"

Spot looked agitated, murderous, annoyed, deadly, and thoroughly pissed off the same time. He can do that, apparently.

He growled at me, "We'se's already decided, Gypsy. We just agreed ta include ya fer da sake o' both our sanities."

Their mistake. I stood and pushed out the chair, standing to pace the room. "Spot, I'm beggin' ya, kill me. Den he's got not'in' ta use against ya."

Spot shook his head. "I ain't killin' ya, Gypsy," he glared at Fox, whose mouth was opening in a response. He shut it.

I went pale as I thought of something. "And what about us? Me an' Sling an' Wolf an' Spot? Whaddawe do?"

Fox shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him, which it didn't. "Spot goes with us as part of the deal, as a hostage. We're taking all the leaders of the boroughs."

Spot's pale, scowling, and sweaty. He knew. The cowardly idiot knew. He knew this would happen, and he agreed to it. For me, for Brooklyn, for New York.

Stinking honor! To hell with doing what's right! I WANT WAR, IF IT'LL MEAN PEACE!

Does that make sense?

Don't answer that.

But right then, I could only look at Spot Conlon, the idiot who's both ruined my life, and saved it. The jerk, he did it for me. For Brooklyn, too, but mainly for me, I can see it in the stinking scabber's eyes.

I could only sit and look at them both. Then I glared at Fox. "You would destroy everything that the newsies represent? To satisfy some stupid revenge thing?"

Fox only sneered back at me. Oh, I hated him, and I hated whatever idiot hadn't drowned him when he came out of his mother, squalling and sneering.

Then Fox, still sneering said, "We're doing a good thing, here, Sparks. We're bringing New York under one rule, not the rule of separate leaders and boroughs."

I guarantee you, one day, I will forget this, because they will never print this in the newspapers, never gossip over it in the streets, never talk about it over dinner, never send a letter about it, never even hear of it. Because when it's all said and done, we're just kids, even though most of us are more grown up than the big shots who own the city.

So all I could do, since I had so much to say but no time to say it, was slap Fox, then Spot, as hard as I could. Well, Spot not so much. But then I ran out, and I saw Witchy's face and Cloudy's face, and they knew it, too.

I had to run and hug them, because Spot was leaving Brooklyn for real, and not just for a quick trip to Manhattan. He was going away as a hostage, a POW, if you will.

None of us were crying, but we were trying hard not to. As I see it, Spot was buying Brooklyn and me back from Fox. But for how long?

Spot came out of the private room and Fox followed.

Fox was grinning, Spot looked smaller than I'd ever seen him, and his perfect blue gray eyes were broken, defeated.


	24. Unhinged

Fox grinned out at the Brooklynites and his gang as he said, "We've come to an agreement. Spot Conlon will accompany us to our headquarters, and in return, we give you back Sparks of Brooklyn, and Brooklyn will remain untouched."

This of course started yelling, screaming, shouting, muttering, gossiping, whispering, talking, and general not-helpful-in-the-least stuff.

"Oi!" I yelled, and everyone snapped to attention, because I ebt I'd never looked more murderous than I did then. "Shame on all o' you!"

Fox looked at me for a second, before leaving, him at the front, Spot on the middle, and the rest of the group around him.

Of course, everyone turned to me.

I slapped away every hand that tried to comfort me, every sympathetic word.

I didn't want pity, or sympathy.

I wanted revenge. And that meant war. And that meant bloodshed, and maybe some deaths.

No, I was going to have to content myself with the fact that the day before, I'd been a complete and utter idiot, and joined a gang. Now, a day later, I was out of the gang, with Spot unwillingly hostage.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!

Then I realized, someone was watching me as I sat on the roof, banging my head against the palms of my hands.

It was Wolf.

Like any of my girls would, he sat me down, and let me cry, and like any good friend, didn't ask me a thing until I'd cried myself out.

It's so hard to find a guy like that as just a friend. Most of the guys I know are either jerks, murderous, or both. Namely our former great and fearless leader.

When I was all cried out, Wolf sat across from me and asked,

"What now?"

That was the question that plagued every person in existence. It doesn't matter when or why or what had prompted the question.

What now?

What now?

And when that's done, what after?

I clenched my fists. "Will you take Spot's place?"

Wolf half smiled and shook his head. "I'm a second in command, and you know it. You're the one with a head for command, Gypsy."

I nodded mutely. I would take command. I'd calm everyone, and think. Think of a plan, think of what to do, find some loophole, something I could use. . .

I worked numbly, shouting my headlines for a few days. I made plenty of money, because people felt sorry for the nutso girl who looked half dead from sorrow.

I'm feeling sorry for myself aren't I? Wow, I gotta stop that.

I ate sparsely, and slept lightly. I couldn't stop thinking about Spot. I know I was over reacting. But it was more than just that he was boy, I had to get him back to Brooklyn. I couldn't run Brooklyn! Brooklyn need Spot, everyone knows it.

I just had to figure out how to do it.

My wish came true the day after exactly three weeks had passed since Spot had gone. I couldn't bring myself to say he left, because he didn't really, but I couldn't say he was taken, either, because he hadn't been.

Anyhow, that day, Flick came running to the LH, where I was sitting on the stairs, mindlessly playing with my slingshot.

I stood rapidly as she caught her breath.

"Flick, what is it?" I demanded.

She panted. "It's . . . York Lords . . . At the border . . . they wanna see you'se." she took a deep breath.

I ran, and Flick followed.

The border was far in this case, it was all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge. But to any natural Brooklynite, this was about as far as it was to a giant, namely, five steps.

It seemed to take forever to get to the Brooklyn Bridge.

But when we finally got there, I saw the dilemma. My sister, and Sam, were there, with all their things, including three varieties of knives.

I pulled out my slingshot, as if I could shoot my sister.

"Anna, what da hell're ya doin' heah?" I demanded.

She crossed her arms. "Ya nevah bother'd ta learn my newsie name?" she smiled. "Guess what Staten Island named me when dey kicked me out? Traitah."

I crossed my arm and my friends looked back and forth between Anna and me. Sling was there, and Dicey and Poker. Oh, and Alleycat.

"And what was yer name afore dat?" I asked.

Anna shrugged, "Anna."

I had to smile a little bit. Then I leaned to the side to look at Sam.

He was practically hiding behind Anna.

So I marched over to him and spoke at his face, "So, Sam, havin' fun toyin' wit' us poor Brooklynites? 'Cause we poor Brooklynites have a few punches ta repay."

Sam held up his hands.

"We left Fox and the others. They're being tyrannical, and some of the others would have deserted but they feared Fox."

Sling rolled her eyes. "Can't he speak like real person?"

Sam frowned at her. "I was perfectly clear."

Sling shot back, "Not da point. Tyrannical, deserted, and feared ain't woids used in everyday language."

Anna smiled at me. "Aren't dey poifect for each uddah?"

Sling and Sam both glared at her and protested, "HEY!"

I crossed my arms, though I was grinning. When I managed to wipe the smile off my face, I said, "So ya came ovah ta our side?"

Anna smirked at me. "Figured ya needed someone who knew where Spot's kept."

Heart in throat, then it falls too far, and then it returns to normal. Never understood why it did that.

I took them back to the LH, where they were both slapped. Multiple times. Increasingly.

It's not like I could blame my newsies for it. After all, Sam and Anna's gang just took away Brooklyn's leader.

So, Anna put up with it. The newsies that slapped Sam had hell to pay, and got slapped back, but still.

Anyhow, when I finally got them all sat down, we talked about a plan of action.

Wolf and Sling sat down with us. I'd included Witchy and Cloudy in the conversation, because they were our prophets, weird as it sounds.

So, all seven of us, sitting in a circle, on the roof.

Some things don't change, do they? At the end of the day, I always end up on the roof.

"So?" I prompted Sam and Anna. "Talk. What happened? Where's Spot? What are they doing ta him?"

Anna looked down. "When dey got 'im ta headquartahs, dey locked 'im in dat closet, you stayed in, and kept it shut. Dey starved 'im for a few days, an' wouldn't let me o' any of us give him food, just a little watah.

Aftah three days, Fox told me ta take 'im ta dat room ay saw, with all da gang membahs in it. Dey interrogated 'im. Seems dey was plannin' ta raid Brooklyn anyhow. But Spot wouldn't tell 'em anythin'.

I wasn't dere. Fox told me ta go out wit' a few uddah gang membahs, ta Queens, ta do what we did in Brooklyn. Dey wouldn't join us eidah, and neidah would Manhattan, so Fox told us ta take Duchess an' Cowboy.

Only, Cowboy wouldn't go. Dat Davey, and his sistah wouldn't let 'im. No one would, not any o' his friends. So we had ta take Davey's sistah, too, an' Jack.

Sam was at Spot's interrogation, an' he told me everythin'." Anna looked at me now, right in the eyes. "He's gotta tell ya, 'cause I ain't gonna."

"Did anyone die?" Dollface said from the doorway. We all jumped, and we all had our slingshots and knives out by the time we faced Dollface. She held up her hands, and, after a long lecture, we let her sit down and join us.

"No. Nobody died." Anna answered when we were all calmed down. "But Davey got a bad bonk on da head, an' Jailbird, from Queens, 'e bruised a few bones when one o' da gang membahs got angry wit' 'im."

So now we turned to Sam, only half ready for the horrific details of Spot's interrogation.

He took a deep breath and began, looking everywhere but at any of us. "Fox was playing with Spot, like he knew something the rest of us didn't.

He kept threatening you, Sparks, and Wolf and Kitty, whoever that is, and someone people called Witchy and Cloudy, and Sling and some others.

But Spot wouldn't say anything, so Fox started shooting marbles at Spot with his own slingshot.

A few people left then, but I stayed, to be able to tell Anna.

Spot was bruised all over, and . . . he was screaming curses at Fox, and at somebody named Huntson. But not at anybody in particular, just . . .somebody named Huntson.

He said Huntson would pay, and Fox, too.

But at the end of the interrogation, all they could get out of him was when he accidentally let slip something. He said, 'Gypsy'll kill ya.'"

Of course, everyone looked at me, and I laughed like a madwoman, because Spot knew me so well.

I hated him and I loved him, and I would die for him, and he traded himself for me (and Brooklyn, but that's beside the point) and he knows that Fox has hell to pay.

Everyone looked at me like I was finally coming unhinged. It was probably about time, too, but unhingedness would have to wait a while, until I could get Brooklyn back under Spot.

When I could settled down, I asked Sam, "How bad is he? Can he walk?"

Sam shrugged. "He can walk, but he's covered in bruises and scratches, and Fox hit him hard, and even when we give him food, he barely eats any of it."

I banged my forehead with my hand, muttering, "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid Spot Conlon."

Then, Wolf asked, "Where are they? How can we get in?"

That was where Anna smiled, and dug out a few pieces of paper.

Like any true newsie, she had snuck a few pieced of blank newspaper from the printing presses, and that was the paper she had drawn maps on.

"The York Lords' place is sort of a warehouse, like they have in Queens." Sam said. "There's this hallway that's full of closets, and they're all locked and bolted."

I was perfectly calm when I said, "And?"

Anna knew what I was talking about. She switched to another map and pointed. Sam said. "It's not a big warehouse, so there's few entrances, but we think this warehouse was for smuggling or something, because there's this back door, that opens into a maze of alleys."

Ann went on, "If we can get inside, den we got pretty good chance o' getting' Spot an' de uddahs out."

Wolf counted them out. "East Side, West Side, Coney Island, Manhattan, Staten Island, Harlem, Queens, Bowery-"

"They haven't got the leaders of Staten Island or Harlem." Sam said. "And that leaves Brooklyn and the Bronx, still."

I whistled. "Nine leadahs ta get out, if ya include da Walkin' Mouth's sistah. Dey bettah not make a fuss."

I stood. I was not going to go furthere with this meeting without back up.

"Wolf, bring Rivah an' Jailbird from Queens," I ordered. "Sling, Race an' Davey from Manhattan."

We dispersed.


End file.
